John Watson, Bachelor
by Rayonea
Summary: For those of you who aren't up-to-date on their Reality TV schedules, Monday night is The Bachelor night. This season, John Watson is the bachelor. Tonight, our journey comes to a close.
1. Episode 1

Episode One

"You lucky bastard," Paul cheered. "I bet you get sucked off by three different girls before the show's over."

"Yeah! There's always at least one slutty one," Geoff added.

"I'm pretty sure that's not the point," John mumbled, rubbing his arm futilely, trying to get rid of the jolts radiating from his wound. "And I haven't accepted, yet, anyway. They told me to think about it."

Which wasn't true. He had asked to think about it. And they had said yes, and now he was back to sitting in his medical ward at the veteran's hospital, with the only two people who really came to visit. Some of the other corps members stopped by, on occasion, but Paul and Geoff _visited_. It was nice.

John had been recovering from this bullet wound for about a month, which was longer than he wanted to be stuck here, but the doctors had been worried about shrapnel infections. He was bored, he was depressed, and he really had no clue what he was going to do with himself now. Having people around was nice, but he wasn't really close to the guys from his corps. They all liked him well enough. It's hard not to like the bloke who keeps you from being dead. But none of them knew what to do with an injured depressed army doctor, which he couldn't blame them for.

Paul and Geoff were different. They came by all the time. They brought portable video games, and tried to goad him in to hitting on nurses, and generally lifted the mood of the whole hospital. The fact that they would stop in almost every day to visit a doctor almost ten years older than they were - who they barely knew before he was hospitalized - _while they were on leave_ - spoke volumes about them. They were good men.

And they really wanted him to be _The Bachelor_.

"You have to do it! Have to." Paul was getting kind of intense. "You're the most decent discharge from our corps. Even with the PTSD, you don't go diving under bed when cups rattle. You're good-looking; you're a doctor; what girl doesn't want a doctor?"

"And you're a charmer," Geoff laughed. "People love you."

"Getting along with guys in barracks is not the same as wooing twenty-five women." And John wasn't sure he had the energy for that kind of shenanigan. Even if these two thought he did.

Geoff and Paul were young. Paul was nineteen, fresh, and doing his best to become a doctor. Geoff was Paul's best friend, and a lot more interested in social schmoozing than good grades.

They were also the culprits here. When the producers came around looking for a veteran to spice up the next season of _The Bachelor_, they hadn't hesitated even a second. Not only had they made him out to be the most reasonable, loving, compassionate man on the face of the earth, they had also trumped up the fact that he had been shot while carrying a wounded soldier off the battlefield. Like that wasn't his _job_. And worst of all, they'd gotten enough support. And the producers liked him.

"You can do it. We picked you for a reason," Paul sighed. He was going to be really disappointed if John didn't take this. He could already tell.

And that's what it came down to. Could he really let down two boys who were going out to the frontline in a month? Especially when they were the most consistent companions he'd had during recovery.

"You guys have a lot of faith in an old man." John tried to rub the headache out of his forehead. "Even if I somehow end up in a relationship, I doubt it'll last."

"It's better than living alone in an army-paid flat?" Geoff had a point.

"Yeah. Yeah, it is." He knew he wouldn't say no. "But you guys have to watch every fucking episode, yeah?"

X

John had made the phone call twenty minutes ago. It was happening. He was being discharged in three days, and he would go straight from the hospital to a television set. And he would not strain his shoulder or Nurse Janet would kill him with her bare hands.

She also wanted his autograph.

The problem was this: John Watson was not looking for love. Not at all, actually. It would be great to not have to live alone with all the PTSD nightmares, and the psychosomatic limp, and all the evidence of his broken self. But he really didn't want to inflict that on some girl he had known for a few months. He wanted some sort of companion, but a lover could come later. Once he was settled.

Of course, there was the intense bonding issue. Studies had shown that times of intense stress could forge a strong bond in an incredibly short amount of time. This setup created intense stress. He might be engaged when he finished, and chances were high that he would be able to connect with at least one of the women. Even if they never got married, it was probably worth a shot.

And besides, how the hell else does a boring, limping man find a girl?

It wasn't really going to take that much to reconcile himself to the idea of it.

Even though it was after visiting hours, there was a light knock on the door. A nurse shushed, and pushed Paul through the door, closing it quickly behind him.

"Hey," Paul said, smiling weakly. He didn't usually come alone. "I just wanted to stop in and say that I think you need to do this. The bachelor thing, I mean."

John watched Paul fuss with his sheets before asking what he needed to. "Why's that?"

"You're the best man I know. You deserve this."

If John hadn't already called, he would have been dialing the number right then.

X

There was nothing really nerve-wracking - or exciting - about waiting around in the cold in a suit. It was mostly just awkward. Almost as awkward and the good-luck ass-pat from the host he didn't know. Or the month of preparations and producers. And watching every re-run of _The Bachelor_ that he could find. At least he knew how things were supposed to work, and what he was expected to do, and what was considered "foul play" by the girls in the house.

John knew what he had to do. Each girl would come out of the car, introduce herself, and head inside. He'd pick the one who made the best impression and give her a rose. Then he'd pick seventeen other girls and give them a rose, "breaking the hearts" of seven girls he barely knew, supposedly in the quest for true love. Not that he had high hopes about that. He also didn't have high hopes about remembering everyone's name tonight. He hadn't managed to learn names until episode three of each season; he assumed his own season would be the same.

The best he could do was be nice, try to let them "know" who he was through a series of over-the-top and ridiculously planned dates, and hope that there wasn't too much fighting. Though, there would be. And lots of kissing, whether he liked it or not.

Idly, he wondered if he could enforce the "no kissing until I know whether or not you have a communicable disease" rule in such a big, desperate group.

At least they had all been checked for STDs. That's gotta count for something.

John's contemplation is abruptly interrupted by the arrival of a limo. The first girl climbs out, draped in blue chiffon. Blonde hair curled loosely, and wrapped in some sort of pageant sash, she swayed up to him confidently and gave him a tight, chest-out hug.

"And who would you be?" He laughed awkwardly.

"Elizabeth. I'm a pageant girl from Texas, and I want to be the first to tell you how handsome you are." She smiled with false coyness and shied away a bit, automatically assuming a hands-on-hips quasi-pose. John could feel the dislike already.

"Ah, thank you. I'm glad you think so."

The next few girls poured out one at a time, in a similar blur of colors and chiffon and glitter. Cecilia. Lucy. Amanda. Ashley. Anna. Next limo. Jennifer.

A tall brunette sashayed up to him, after Jennifer had left. She was dressed in a backless green taffeta dress, and seemed a lot more poised than the other girls. She gave him a tight, brief hug before saying anything.

"I'm Tara." Her voice was quiet, gentle. "I'm from Sussex, and I model for a living."

"Well, it's great to meet you," John beamed. "I don't think I've ever met a model before."

She smiled shyly, and tossed her hair. "Well, I'm pretty much the same as any other girl, so don't get too excited. You might be disappointed."

"I don't think you have to worry," John laughed. "I'm sure we'll get along fine."

She batted her eyelashes before saying goodbye.

Next was Rachel. Laura. Amelia. Karen. So far none of them had really said or done much more than introduce themselves and give him a quick hug. Everything was a little awkward. But that was to be expected.

His leg was starting to really ache. Shifting around relieved it a bit, but John knew he'd be limping more than usual tomorrow.

Next limo. Lorna. Emily. Adele. Ellen. And then a girl who was practically sewn in to her tiny sequined minidress, and who waltzed tediously on her ridiculous heels.

"Stephanie, love. Nice to meet you," she crooned while kissing him on both cheeks. Her hand rested gently on top on his cane hand, not giving half an inch of personal space back. "I bet a vet like you has tons of war stories."

"Ah, not really." John eased back just a little, so he could breathe non-perfumed air. "Unfortunately, doctoring isn't very exciting."

"I love doctors," she purred, leaning in to peck him on the cheek. "We'll get along famously."

After Stephanie, came Stacy. Then a new limo. Brittany. Theresa. Catherine. Andrea. Lisa. And lastly, a woman in a conservative black dress, with dirty blonde hair laying down around her shoulders. She was the first one to offer him a handshake rather than a hug.

"Sarah Sawyer." She smiled crookedly when she shook his hand. "I'm a nurse practitioner in a London hospital. I hear you're an army doctor?"

"Ah, yeah. Just retired from service. It's been a long time since I've had a real hospital job." It was probably the most genuine smile he'd given all night. All he needed was one person who he had something in common with and who he could talk to. No, Catherine the neurosurgeon didn't count. She wasn't very friendly and reeked of desperation.

"Well, hopefully this is a good re-introduction to society." Another understated smile. "We'll talk more later."

"Yes. Yes, we certainly will!" He was grinning dumbly

He was struck with how pretty she was, as she walked off behind him. It wasn't immediately obvious, but she was definitely attractive. The evening was looking a little more promising. His leg still hurt, but he hadn't been as disappointed with the women as he thought he would be. And - as far as he could tell - he would get to sit down soon.

But not yet. The overly friendly host was back, with extra cameras. But no ass-pats, thankfully.

"We've got one more for you, John. And I hope you're braced for it!" It's funny how shyster-y telly hosts can sound, he thinks. He can't imagine he'll be too shocked with their "big surprise."

The last limo drives slowly. Dramatically. Really, really slowly. And then the door pops open. And a man steps out. A tall, striking man, with almost clichéd alabaster-pale skin, and loose, curly hair. He was handsome, with sharp blue eyes, and, honestly, imposing. Even though he was dressed in designer clothes the man was not "put together." And he was very sensibly wearing a coat and scarf.

John found himself properly stunned. And feeling a little frumpy in his awkward suit.

But there wasn't a woman with the mystery man. The limo pulled away immediately after he stepped out, and the man scowled as it left, then stalked purposefully towards John, who was still being suitably shocked.

The man thrust his hand out. "Sherlock Holmes. World's only consulting detective. John, I presume?"

"Yeah, John Watson, nice to meet you." Sherlock's handshake was firm. Authoritative.

"They wanted me to hug you, but I compromised for a handshake. Apologies for any awkwardness." He didn't seem apologetic.

Confused, John was starting to pick up on his surprise. Though he thought that perhaps consulting him about his sexual preferences might have been a politesse on the part of the producers.

"Are you here as one of the..." There is no gender neutral word for "bachelorettes." "... Participants, then?"

"Yes. Is it going to be a problem?" Sherlock temporarily looked worried. Just a fleeting expression, but something.

"Well, I've never dated a man before, but I'm perfectly willing to try," John chuckled. "I did spend six years in the army."

Sherlock's face contorted slightly. Well, that hadn't gone well. He shook his head slowly, almost as if he were attempting to dispel his obvious disgust, and the lingering awkwardness.

"Yes..." Looking beyond him, toward the door, Sherlock seemed to be searching for an exit and John immediately wanted to die quickly and painlessly of embarrassment. "Well, I suppose they'll want me inside now."

"Probably."

And Sherlock was gone. Easy as that. John, however, got to sit on a bench waiting for the film crew to catch some of the interaction between the "girls" before his entrance. To a casual observer, he looked more or less calm. On the inside, he was panicking.

He blew it. He really blew that one. And somehow that awkward first meeting with Sherlock was the only one that mattered out of all the awkward meetings. Which also caught him off guard. John really didn't consider himself gay - or bi. He'd never dated a man, never taken comfort in other men while he was on the frontline. But the idea of loving another man didn't bother him. It was all love, yeah?

But Sherlock. Sherlock was glimmering with intelligence, poise, character. John wanted to know what a consulting detective was, what kind of books he read, and why he was here. Sherlock may be the only person on this set who could understand what John was undertaking. And he seemed genuine. He didn't laugh if the joke wasn't funny. He hadn't made any pretenses or tried to trump up how awesome he was. He hadn't grabbed John and hugged him, or taken away his personal space. That was a lot more than the majority of the women had done.

Controlled. Sherlock was controlled. But he obviously had opinions and wasn't afraid of showing them. Controlled passion, maybe? Something. Something intriguing was lurking just below what John could see and he was irrationally fascinated. He felt like he shouldn't be fascinated. Here was a more-or-less straight man finding out that another man was going to be vying for his affection. It didn't make sense for him to be drawn to Sherlock. He should be disgusted. Or scared. And probably less ashamed of his bad joke.

And to top it off, Sherlock didn't come off as gay. He wondered if that was a good or bad thing.

At least he felt appropriately confused.

X

The noise level in the house had been tolerable until Sherlock walked in.

"Oh my GOD, he's bi?" shrieked the girl across the room - Karen. She had been fairly blunt all evening, and she was getting more candid with the addition of wine. Most of the girls looked frantic.

"We have no chance, do we?" Rachel cried. "This is so unfair."

Sarah patted her arm. "Hardly. There's twenty-four of us, and one man. The odds are for a girl winning."

"What if he likes guys better, though? We're all fucked." Rachel was rapidly tearing up.

"If he liked guys better there would be more guys here. Not just one," Sarah pointed out calmly. "And he certainly seemed happy enough to have a parade of women come in."

X

"I still think this is horribly unfair," Rachel cried to the confessional, later, looking a lot more emotionally worn down. "I can't believe they wouldn't warn us about him."

X

Oddly, Sherlock found himself encircled, rather than shunned. Not a comfortable feeling, he decided. So this is how it felt to drown in bolts of chiffon and taffeta.

"So, do you only like men, then?" Stephanie crooned at him.

"I like not being hounded about my sexuality by women I don't know." He had expected questioning, and his plan was to simply avoid it. The less socializing he did, the better.

"Does that mean we're all getting two chances at love?" Tara giggled. He instantly hated her. "Or that you're just here to suck his cock?"

Bitchiness this early on? This was going to be more fun than Sherlock thought. No need to be nice or fake societal politeness. The producers were going to love him.

Tara. The way she poses when she stands, the build, the eau du perfection that she thought she was wearing - probably a model. The bone structure of her face sealed it. The nasty comments showed a discrete lack of self-worth that she was displacing on other people, and her long green dress probably meant she was self-conscious about her legs. What kind of a model hides their legs during a party? As for intelligence quotient, she scored pretty low. Really? You parade out that kind of crap this early in the game? Competitive women are not going to stand for that.

"You may be here for the sex, but I'm here for the company. And the free refreshments. If you ladies will excuse me."

He could almost hear her self-esteem shatter as he glided towards the food platter. Not the wittiest comment he'd ever made, but oh so satisfying, nonetheless. It was nice to not have to fit in.

X

"That fucking dick," Tara hissed at a confessional camera. "I don't know why he's even here. Everyone knows that fags aren't faithful, there's no point trying to build something meaningful with him."

She should have been glad that John hadn't heard her.

X

"I'm just so, so happy to be here," Catherine mumbled forcibly. She didn't actually seem happy to be here. "I really need a good man like you."

Comments like that never really sat well with John. Both because she didn't actually know anything about him yet and because she was perfectly fine without a man. He never understood why intelligent, successful women thought a husband was so necessary. Not desirable, or wanted, but literally necessary.

"You don't seem like you need a man. You said you were a neurosurgeon?" He was hoping to change subjects.

"I'm almost thirty, biological clock is ticking," she laughed, ignoring his question. "I thought I might die alone. But now that you're here, I think I've found my true love."

Okay, now she was just lying. She hadn't said anything even remotely on a different subject all night. John had managed to say nothing that wasn't a futile change of subject. This was not a love-at-first-sight situation.

"Well, I hope I don't disappoint you," John forced out. He already knew he would. Thank god her fifteen minutes were up. "I think our time is up."

"My prince is leaving?" She quickly leaned in a kissed him. John knew he made a face. He could feel the muscle scrunch together. He just hoped she didn't see it. "Come back soon, darling."

He smiled weakly at that and, showing impeccable restraint, walked calmly away. Sweet, sweet escape. Spending equal time with the women was difficult. Especially when some of them were so obviously faking attraction or were just painfully awkward. They didn't need to fake. John would hardly expect anyone to fall head over heels for him in less than twenty minutes. It was just impossible.

X

"I never thought I'd say it, but I think I love him," Lucy whispered to a confessional. "He's really nice, and friendly, and just... Perfect. I usually go for the rough and dangerous ones. But John is nice and concerned, and wants to know about my day job."

She smiled, tearing up a little, before shrugging.

"I guess he's everything I never thought I wanted."

A pause.

"That was cheesy. Can I take it back?"

X

"What do you think of Sherlock?" Ashley murmured, tossing her dark hair over one shoulder. "Were the producers really that desperate?"

"He's handsome," Amelia shot back. "And he seems genuine. That's more than you can say about some of the girls."

Ashley's laugh cut through the room, just a little too loud. "About half the girls here are desperate whores!" she giggled, slurring a little. "Whores and bitches."

"We're all here for love," Amelia countered. She might be short but she was not intimidated. And Ashley was more than a bit drunk and had been rubbing her the wrong way for over an hour.

"You're alright, though, Amy."

"Amelia."

"Amelia. whatever," Ashley giggled again, slinging her arm over he other girl's shoulder. Amelia shrugged her off. "You're alright, regardless. Even if you are a china doll."

"I'm Korean." Alright, that was it. It was someone else's turned to babysit the drunk bitch. "I'm going to head to the bathroom. Why don't you go over and talk to one of the other girls?"

Ashley was just sober enough to not teeter as she walked. Just. And she took her sort-of-passable swagger straight over to the punch bowl, or tried. Andrea intercepted her before she got there.

"Whoa, I think that's enough," Andrea said, gently steering her towards a chair. "Sit down and have some water for a bit."

"Gotta drink. Party when you can," Ashley grinned.

"You don't want to pass out before he hands out the first impression rose, do you?" The girls had been tracking that rose all evening. So far it was still sitting on the living room table, and no one was safe yet. "Or the rose ceremony?"

"I just want all the whores to go away. I'm in law school. I shouldn't have to deal with whores." Ashley giggled and Andrea frowned. Maybe she could let her bar tending instincts go just this once.

"Right, then. Have fun with oblivion, try not to throw up."

X

"That girl - Ashley, or whatever - she is drunker than I am," Karen almost hollered at the confessional. "And I'm pretty damn drunk. At least I'm not a bitch, though!"

X

Sherlock had not expected the female attention he was getting. By the end of an hour he had attracted a small cluster of women who seemed to want to make friends, despite the fact that he wasn't even trying to be nice. At least four of them were insincere. The other three seemed to be fawning a little. The group of them had taken up most of the seats around Sherlock, and the last two had brought their own chairs from somewhere else. It almost felt like they were trying to intimidate him with their femininity.

Amanda, specifically, had given up any sense of decorum in her slightly tipsy state, and was trying to cling to him. Sherlock, of course, was desperately trying to get out of her grabbing range without having to physically move off the couch.

"Hey, handsome. Want a glass of wine?" she drooled. She really didn't need another glass. And she wasn't as drunk as she was letting on. Her hands were too steady and she wasn't really slurring. She was just trumping up her inebriation, out of habit, it seemed. Indicating that she worked among alcohol, but not as a waitress or a bartender - she'd have to stay sober in those jobs. More likely a dancer, or a stripper, something where she would have clients that buy her drinks. Drunkenness is something to tease with, in those jobs. Her streaky blonde-dyed hair was probably for the job as well.

"As a reminder, 'handsome' is not my name." Sherlock was not drinking tonight. With this many people around, inebriation was not an option.

"Well, maybe we should go somewhere quieter to talk. It's getting noisy in here." She was already tugging on his arm, and the girls next to him we're making faces and whispering furiously.

"Really? You really want alone time with someone other than John?" Lucy gave Amanda a disgusted stare. At least having the girls around made sure he had someone who was as horrified as he was.

"I'm staying here. John should be back soon," Sherlock argued. Oh please, come back soon. And preferably take this girl away. She had her hand on his knee again.

Merciful, merciful John walked in right then, and Sherlock gave him his best "helpmesaveme" look as he tried to struggle away. Fortunately, John got the hint.

"Ah, I'm afraid I'm taking away the star of the night," he said grinning. "Sherlock stole the limelight, didn't he?"

The girls nearby immediately zoned in on John, most of them glancing at the rose he had just picked up off the table. Amanda had, thankfully, let go, and gone back to fawning over John with the rest of the girls.

"It's my turn, then?" Sherlock asked, eager to be gone. "Where are we off to?"

John led him to a bench by the completely unnecessary pool. "You've been popular, then. I think you're going to end up with a girl before I do."

He was laughing, but Sherlock could see the nervous shifting in his hands, and the way he leaned heavily on the cane while walking. John sat down with a heavy sigh. And Sherlock made a face and sat down next to him.

"They're here for you, not me. Thankfully." That was very earnest relief Sherlock was expressing. "So very thankfully."

The girls had been far too clingy and insipid, and most of them had been there to catch a bit of the shock value Sherlock had brought. Ridiculously pathetic.

"Not your type then?" John kept fidgeting with the rose he was holding that Sherlock hadn't noticed until now. He assumed that John must be planning to cut his time short and go give the rose away right after.

The lack of tact that represented was driving Sherlock insane. There was no reason to be this nervous about a conversation. Especially when John had been mostly calm when he spoke to the women. Perhaps he was regretting not rejecting him immediately?

"This really isn't my area." And it wasn't. Guessing games and intangible feelings that messed with your rational thinking and were generally disruptive. It was confusing and painful, and he knew already he was going to be rejected. Pity.

John stopped fidgeting then. Put down the rose, and gave him a puzzled look.

"What isn't? Gaggles of women?"

"Romance in general. I try not to waste energy or time on it." Sherlock settled back, and put his feet on the patio coffee table. It was best not to get anyone's hopes up. "I consider myself married to my work."

He wasn't expecting the genuine concern in the next question.

"...Are the producers holding you against your will?" John asked, fearfully. Worried. He looked worried. Huh. "Or did they bribe you? Because you don't have to stay."

"No, no! I was bored," He explained without explaining. John obviously didn't understand how boredom had anything to do with this. Maybe it was simply that the doctor was tired and he imagined his leg was hurting, and his shoulder wound was acting up, but John looked exhausted very suddenly.

"You were bored?" John's confused face was admittedly...endearing.

"Yes." When it was clear that Sherlock wasn't explaining, John simply changed the subject.

"I'm sorry for making things uncomfortable earlier," he winced.

"Mm?" Sherlock had to think for a moment. It had been awkward, but he wasn't sure it was John's fault. "Oh, no apology necessary."

"How would you feel about getting the first rose?" John blurted. He immediately blushed and rubbed his forehead. "I mean, you don't have to take it. I can let you go home now, if you'd rather. No pressure on my side. I just, I think." John flushed deeper. His attempts at explanation made him ramble. "This is probably silly, isn't it? It's just, ah, I think I want you to have it. If you want to stay, I mean. No pressure if you don't want to! Seriously, I don't mean to be pushy."

It was Sherlock's turn to be confused. "Why?"

Seeing John's half-crushed face, he qualified it. "Why me?"

"I'd like to talk to you more, if nothing else. And you were quite the first impression." Hope. That was hope sparkling in John's eyes. Well, damn. As far as Sherlock was aware he had been awkward and unkind and vague. Not remotely relationship material. Not someone that you might be able to see a second date with, much less a future. Somehow, John Watson had lasted through a conversation with him and still wanted to see him the next day.

Sherlock thought that might be a first. And John really was far less vapid than he was expecting. Interesting even.

"I accept." Sherlock dramatically picked up the rose, snapped the stem off and popped it in to his buttonhole, smirking in victory. John perked up as well. "But since you're keeping me, I'll warn you that I'm very competitive."

"You'll fit right in." They both smiled.

X

Panic spread through the girls almost immediately after Sherlock walked in again. He had the rose, oh shit, he had the rose. That left every single one of them as fair game for going home. On night one. The most shameful night to be cut. Welcome to dating nightmares.

He wasn't quite so welcome at his seat on the couch, anymore. Most of the smiles he got were cold, and there weren't as many of them as there had been. Sherlock wasn't going to worry about it. Somehow, out of all the pretty and nice girls, he had gotten the first pick. That was enough to satisfy him for now.

And the claws were coming out, now.

"So you got a rose for having a penis?" Lucy was smiling, but not in a friendly way. "Is that really fair?"

"My penis is apparently more interesting than twenty-four vaginas," Sherlock responded. It wasn't difficult to be a bitch back, and actually felt somewhat cathartic. He hadn't had nicotine in hours, and his patience was starting to thin. "I think it may have been the entire lack of desperation that won him over though."

"Are you saying I'm desperate?" Lucy snapped. He could've sworn he saw her snarl. Mm. He thought he might get that reaction.

"I think you know." With a grin, he got up and took himself to the fruit tray.

X

"I knew he was gay," Rachel wailed. "I knew it. Oh god, this is so unfair! Why are they doing this to us?"

X

"And I see some cocks were sucked already," Tara hissed. "Goddamn fags. John will regret this later."

X

"Oh for fuck's sake," Adele snapped. "So all I had to do to impress him was be a guy? Because that's possible, yeah?"

X

"He walked in smiling, with that rose in his lapel, and there was pandemonium." Cecelia, at least, seemed mostly calm. "I do agree that not being a girl is a pretty strong impression. I mean, if I had a penis? I'd be sure to mention it."

X

"I'm glad he's staying." Amanda winked.

X

"Fuck," Lisa swore, heading back towards the bar. "Why the fuck am I even here?"

"Because you're a whore," Ashley slurred from beside her, an awkward smile on her face. "We're all whores here, apparently."

"And you're the drunkest whore of us all," Lisa snapped back, downing a glass of wine at the same time. "I hope your fucking liver gives out."

"Hey, don't take your anger out on her," Jennifer commented.

"Stay the fuck out of it," Lisa yelled. "It's none of your fucking business."

"Alright, then."

As Jennifer moved out of the blast zone, she noticed Lucy. Lucy was on the other side of the room, almost crying, making a bit of a spectacle of herself. A small crowd of girls were surrounding her, trying to calm her down. She wasn't sure what happened but she could guess.

Steering herself away from that area too, Jennifer found herself face to face with Sherlock Holmes. The man of the hour.

"Well, who do we have here," she murmured. "You probably want to stay out of here for a while."

"Thanks for the tip," Sherlock responded with wicked glee. He didn't seem too put out, standing against a wall just within hearing range of a few of the gossiping groups. He took a slow sip of his drink before continuing. "I assume the wailing and screaming girls don't want to see me?"

Jennifer laughed. "Not overly. Most of them are bitches, though, so you're not missing much."

"Ah, glad to hear it. Sherlock Holmes, by the way. I don't think we've met." He didn't offer his hand.

"Jennifer Strum. Nice to meet you."

X

"Wow, take things personal much?" Karen giggled. "They're so upset about this guy they barely know, and really? It's hilarious. Drama queens are awesome for entertainment. It's too bad John is missing the fun."

X

"I shouldn't be so upset," Lucy cried, a little pathetically. "I mean, he doesn't know me yet. I just need to win him over."

She wiped at her eyes, tears threatening.

"I just want John to keep me for a little longer."

X

"Well, I wasn't expecting the first rose to go to Sherlock, but alright," Sarah said to her confessional. "It's not the end of the world."

X

As the girls (and Sherlock) lined up for this somewhat ridiculous ceremony, John wondering what Paul and Geoff were going to think of his choices. They'd probably pick a girl to root for, over Sherlock, but neither were really homophobic. Geoff kind of came off as gay, once you got to know him. John had never bothered to ask, though.

He just hoped they weren't disappointed too badly with whoever he chose. Because now that he was here, he was going to do what he wanted. If he was aiming for love, he could at least make sure he liked the person he picked.

And this rose ceremony thing? Was only nerve-wracking because he couldn't remember all their names. It was pretty obvious to him, who he didn't immediately like. The long drawn out "will you accept this rose" nonsense was just for drama.

Sherlock winked from the front row. That brought a smile to John's face. It was time to call some names.

But first, Dave, the host, came out with the big tray of roses, and began his speech.

"Ladies," he said, a lot more suavely than he had earlier, "it's time for the first rose ceremony. As I'm sure you all know, Sherlock has received the first impression rose this evening. There are seventeen more roses to be had, which means that seven of you will be going home. John."

John started with the names he remembered.

"Sarah." She came slowly towards him, smiling. She had been nice to talk to, even though the conversation mostly centered on hospitals in the London area. "Will you accept this rose?"

Lifting it gently out of his hand, she murmured, "Of course."

"Cecelia." The rustling of chiffon, as Cecelia made her way from the back row. She had been good conversation, too. Calm and quite interesting. Not surprising from someone in marketing. "Will you accept this rose?"

She smirked and gave him a hug before taking it. "Always."

The next few girls were all tolerable and seemed nice enough when he'd been talking to them. Lucy, Adele, Stacy, Jennifer, Amelia, Rachel. Amanda stayed because she was funny. Karen stayed because her good-natured bluntness had been so shocking. Emily, Laura, Ellen, Anna. All four of them had been shy and very nervous, but they seemed nice. And they weren't molesting him in desperation.

Stephanie was staying, despite her lack of personal space. She had toned it down when he talked to her, and he was willing to give her a second chance. As long as he was given enough room to breathe.

Andrea seemed to be incredibly responsible and collected. If nothing else he appreciated that.

Dave stepped up beside him after that. "Ladies, this is the final rose for this evening.

"Tara," John called, confidently. She had been incredibly sweet to him during both conversations. Sometimes the politeness had been a little forced, but John chalked that up to nerves. There was a lot more at stake on their side than on his.

Rustling down, she seemed happy and grateful. She gave him a long hug, before whispering, "Thank you."

Sherlock was the only one who saw her smirk.

The last rose meant that Brittany (uninterested and shallow), Ashley (drunk), Lorna (painful awkward), Lisa (loud and angry), Theresa (fake), Elizabeth (extra fake), and Catherine (desperate) were going home. He felt bad about Catherine. He had a feeling her self-esteem was really tied in to this. But honestly, he couldn't give her a rose. He needed to be more to her than badge of accomplishment.

Most of the girls stopped to hug him on the way out. As awkward as that was. He wished them good luck and told them they were pretty. It seemed like the right thing to do.

Lisa stomped passed him, without a single word.

Catherine paused and started crying.

"Hey, no. No crying. There are better blokes out there than me." John really did feel bad. "Chin up, okay?"

He gave her a consolation kiss on the cheek, and the host came and lead her off.

X

"I just want someone to love me," Catherine cried to the camera outside. "Anyone. I deserve love. It's not fair."

She took a moment to wipe her eyes and shake her perfect curls.

"Where's my prince charming? Why am I so alone?"

X

"He's just an asshole," Lisa grumbled.

X

"I don't understand what I did wrong." Elizabeth was tearing up, plastic smile still stuck to her face. "I was friendly, and pretty and outgoing. Life isn't fair sometimes."

She hid her face before the camera could see the smile come down or the tears mess up her makeup.

X

"I told you they were whoresh," Ashley mumbled, a drink still in her hand. "I guessh he likes that."

X

John got to his room at two in the morning. So much for a good night's sleep. And they had to travel tomorrow, and he had to think about who to invite on dates, and the producers wanted to double-check the list before he sent it, and he had no clue. He didn't even remember what they were supposed to be doing on these dates.

He knew he couldn't invite Sherlock on a one-on-one. That would be playing favourites, and he genuinely wanted to give all the girls a fair chance. He wasn't sure what to make to the fact that he wanted his first date to be Sherlock. Sherlock wasn't traditionally friendly, or outgoing, or any of the things he was supposed to like. But he liked him anyway. And if he thought about it too hard he was going to end up doubting his sexuality and it was simply too late a night for those kinds of thoughts.

At least his other one-on-one choice was fair. Sarah was getting an invite, for sure.

And maybe Karen? Karen was interesting. It'd be fun to have her around. And honestly, if he thought too hard about his choices nothing was going to get done. He needed two singular dates and ten choices for his group date.

So, group date. Jennifer, Lucy, Rachel, Adele, Ellen, Laura...

...Theresa? No, Theresa was gone.

Amelia, Tara. That was eight.

Andrea. And Sherlock. Definitely, Sherlock, no questions there. Hopefully that would satisfy the producers. And hopefully it wasn't always this hard to come up with lists. It was getting closer to three.

Those army boys better freaking love this when it airs. He expected fan letters.


	2. Episode 2

Episode 2

Traveling officially sucked. Most of the time the girls were separated off or with different crew members, so they didn't have much time to interact either with each other or with John. The silent cameramen were strange, but easy to ignore. It ended up being like traveling alone.

The first destination was Cork City, Ireland. They were shuffled into a huge suite in a five star hotel, with enough beds for seventeen women and an adjoining room for Sherlock. And then promptly instructed to not leave the room. They could use the internet, but all online activity would be screened and they could use their phones, but only once a week and their calls would be screened. The only thing that didn't seem to be screened was what they watched on the telly.

Day one was traveling. Day two was a rest day, most of the girls slept and organized their luggage. Sherlock had spent most of his time watching Jeremy Kyle reruns, bored out of his mind. No drugs, no criminals, no cases, and just one channel of news. Boring.

By the evening he was dying for some drama. Just to have something to do.

He had partially decided and partially been told to spend his free time in the large living room portion of the women's suite. He wanted to be part of the shenanigans and the producers wanted to be sure he was on camera. So it was win-win, in that one aspect.

What wasn't quite so amazing was the fact that they were just talking and sitting around until the first date invitation was delivered. Apparently this was supposed to build tension.

"I really hope I get a date with John," Lucy crooned to the circle of girls. "I'd love to be able to spend some alone time with him."

"It would be just awful to have to stay here alone." Stephanie sighed and started to tear up as she talked. But as far a Sherlock could tell, none of it was genuine. "I mean, just awful."

"How can we show him our true selves without a one-on-one date?" Anna asked, quietly. He had made observations concerning her earlier: Mousy, fairly conservative in dress, calluses on her finger tips, but not her hands - signs of typing. Presents herself well, but doesn't stand out. Probably a secretary. Also, a romantic. She was fawning just a bit too much for Sherlock's tastes.

Actually, she sort of reminded him of Molly. He missed the morgue.

"John isn't the type to eliminate to someone without at least giving them a chance," Sarah commented, from her seat just outside of the couch circle. Sherlock was sitting on the other chair, across the room from her, eyes closed and fingers steepled. "He seemed like a fair man."

"He is, he totally is," Laura gushed. "He's so incredibly sweet."

A lot of girls started nodding with big infatuated smiles. Sherlock had liked John, but he didn't understand the level of enamourment some of these girls were showing. A lot of them were faking; he could tell that. But the three or four who weren't was absolutely mystifying. And also pointed out the weakest personalities to him. If he ever needed something done, he knew who to ask.

"Are you excited, Sherlock?" Laura asked, obviously trying to include him. He wasn't interested.

"I assume it would be less boring than this." He didn't bother opening his eyes. "In that sense, I suppose I'm looking forward to it."

Half the girls looked offended. "You don't care for John at all?" Adele squeaked from the couch.

"He seems nice enough, but at this point I barely know the man. I could hardly have developed feelings for him so quickly." Now his eyes were open. He had a feeling he had said something wrong.

"I can't believe you just said that," Lucy said in shock. "Really?"

He expected a fight. He could almost feel it coming.

"I'm sure Sherlock doesn't mean to devalue our feelings," Cecelia said, swooping in to diffuse the ... situation. Bah. So much for his fun.

"I simply don't need to justify my own lack of fawning," he proclaimed. "Interpret that how you will."

X

"I can't believe he said that," Lucy fumed to a confessional. "So my love isn't real because it's too early? I've never felt this way before, but it can't be love, _nooooo_."

She made a nasty face to the camera.

"What a pretentious wanker."

X

"What the hell is that dick here for, again?" Adele asked. "I mean, is he even trying to get to know John? He certainly isn't endearing himself to the rest of us."

X

"He's kind of mean," Anna muttered softly. "He's mysterious, though, so maybe we're not seeing everything. It would be really romantic if he was just trying to hide his love."

X

Dave stepped in to the room, dressed in his neat suit and his disgusting smile. He had an invitation in hand. Much to the dismay of Sherlock's ears, the girls started shrieking with excitement.

"Ladies, an invitation for you." He placed it gently on the table then wisely disappeared out the door. Sherlock may have glanced at the door with intense longing. But he wasn't about to admit that.

"Eeeeeeeeee!" Amanda squealed, rushing for the invite. "I'll open it!"

A couple of the girls who had jumped up, sat back down, disappointed. Amanda just flipped open the folded note. Tension was palpable.

"Sarah," she read dramatically. Sarah's eyebrows shot up. "Let's get outdoorsy."

Ugh. Awful, awful riddle. Sherlock was judging the production's writers while the girls were busy congratulating Sarah. Most of them had swarmed around her and were cooing about how jealous they were and how lucky she was and how incredibly amazing tomorrow was going to be for her. There was the token attention grabbing, but far more interesting for Sherlock were the few girls that stomped off. Oh, jealousy amongst the throng, how he welcomed it. Hopefully they all held grudges.

He gave Sarah a quick congratulations on the way back to his room.

X

"I'm surprised and flattered." Sarah's smile was completely genuine. "I'm really looking forward to spending time with him.

X

"It's fine with me," Tara said. "She's as fake as a cardboard pin-up anyway, and I'm sure John will see that tomorrow."

Her smile looked like shark teeth.

X

"It's great for Sarah. She seems very nice," Rachel cried at the camera. "I just wish it was me. I want this so badly. There's so much drama in this place, that I can't wait to talk to him."

X

John was waiting nervously by the boat the next day when Sarah drove up and got out of the car. It was windy, but fortunately sunny, and fairly warm. He really was hoping it would stay that way. It's hard to make a good impression in the rain.

Sarah had dressed reasonably, thankfully. Pretty, but sensible, with her hair pulled back and a pair of loose trousers rather than a skirt. That sensibility was something John really appreciated. The fact that she was prepared made her even more attractive to him.

They got on the boat just in time, and settled in for the short ferry ride. Sarah seemed excited, which made him happy.

"I haven't been to the Aran Islands since I was a little girl," she was reminiscing. "My mother used to love them, but my father hated Ireland. It's nice to be back."

"I've actually never been before," John confessed. They were both leaning on the edge of boat, just watching the water run beneath them. Sarah was standing with her hip pressed to his. It was comfortable.

"You'll love it, I think," she smiled as she talked. "Anyone with an appreciation for nature does."

"Well, I certainly have that," John chuckled. Anything that wasn't a sand dune was gorgeous in his eyes. Grass is amazingly beautiful.

"I'm glad you brought me." Sarah was misty-eyed. For a moment, he thought she'd start to cry. Instead, she spoke softly.

"Thank you. This will be a perfect date."

He thought so too.

X

"There wasn't a lot of thought that went in to picking this spot," John admitted to the camera. "I just thought it would be a nice place for a date."

He smiled wistfully. "I'm so glad it means something to Sarah. I know I'll enjoy it. The important thing is that she does too."

X

The girls in the house were fuming and Sherlock had a front row seat. He loved it. It was this kind of tension that built grudges and lead to murders and assault and all kinds of delicious crimes. He didn't think that any of these insipid women had the backbone to murder each other, unfortunately. Most of them were just hiding insecurities with anger. But he could pretend.

Besides, it was hilariously fun to watch their frustrations build. Especially when he could participate. The piece of fish in the couch - dropped by a careless diner last night - was currently helping him determine which of the girls were sensitive to scents. It's always useful to fill one's artillery with as much ammunition as possible, in case a situation arises.

It's just too bad he had to be so careful around the cameras.

"What is that smell?" Stacy's had been the most vocal complainant so far. Her eyes started watering as the day progressed and her inhaler had made an appearance. Definitely severe asthma, and probably a very strong allergy to seafood. Which explained why she'd sat far away from anyone who was even eating fish last night. If someone wanted to kill her it would be an easy job to cover up.

"I still don't smell it!" Rachel called back. Deadened sense of smell, but no evidence of slovenliness. Neat clothes, manicured but short nails, high-end hair dye and salon styled hair, all pointing to the fact that she made decent wages. Hands were strong, though, and with an even strength, meaning she wasn't doing trade work. Also, she obviously had some arm strength, judging by her bicep definition. Worked with her hands, obviously, but not so much that her nails would chip, and had to do quite a lot of lifting. Of something soft, otherwise the chipping nails would become an issue again. Probably some form of nurse work - lifting bodies and handling equipment - likely a care-taking position. Hospitals don't smell like rotting fish - but someone's house? Maybe.

"Fuck it, I'm calling housekeeping," Andrea snapped, stalking over to the phone. "This is ridiculous. I can't believe this many grown women would just sit around and complain without doing something."

Damn it. Sherlock went back to pretending to read in the chair he considered "his," while listening to the conversation with housekeeping. He'd just have to wait for the next floor show to present itself.

X

"Who would put a piece of fish in our couch?" Stacy screeched. "That's just disgusting and rude. It's awful what some of these girls will do to dishearten the rest of us."

She looked red-eyed, but that could have been from the allergies.

X

"Really?" Andrea whined to her confessional. "Really? There are seventeen of us and I'm the only person who thought about fixing it? I don't really care who did it. All that matters is that we get it fixed."

She shook her head and pulled a very sour face before leaning in.

"I wish they would all stop being such whiny princesses."

X

"This is gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous," John babbled. He was grinning ear to ear. "I mean, I know you told me, but it really is. I've never seen so much green."

Sarah was sitting quietly beside him, and just nudged his arm and pointed instead of answering. On the hills above was a white flock of sheep, wandering through the countryside. John honestly couldn't think of anything more picturesque. They had rented bikes to sightsee around the island, and this was their halfway stop. Complete with picnic gear and a lunch packed and delivered by the studio, they had been sprawled in the grass, surrounded by incredibly lush, green, vibrant hills for over an hour. The conversation was dying into silence, but it wasn't awkward. John doubted he'd ever been so comfortable on a date.

And when Sarah rested her head on his shoulder to watch the sheep meander by, he felt completely at peace.

X

"You do realize that they've taken home the wrong baby, don't you?" Sherlock commented without looking up from his book. Three girls just glared at him from the couch. Apparently spoiling the very predictable soap operas was not a good idea.

"How about the fact that she's going to sleep with her sister's husband? They've built that up enough to be obvious." If he had to watch daytime television, it could at least be something interesting or he could get something out of it. The populace may accuse Jeremy Kyle of being utterly pointless, but it was good for practicing hereditary bone structure and family resemblance. Soap operas contained within them no advantages whatsoever, except if you happened to be old and delusional and had developed the belief that they constituted classic entertainment.

"Will you shut up?" Laura snapped. "Go somewhere else if you find our show so boring."

Nevermind. You could also be young and delusional.

"Fine." He didn't really want to argue. He just wanted something to do.

Standing up did help stretch out his stiffened muscles. Maybe he'd go for a walk around the guest facilities. He couldn't leave the complex, but he wasn't confined to this room for today. Perhaps he could find something to do...or for an experiment?

He couldn't help one last thing, though, as he walked out the door.

"Also, Samantha's husband is going to die of cancer in about three episodes, and then she'll start dating the doctor, much to the dismay of her children."

They all simultaneously let out a groan.

X

They had settled in to a quaint restaurant for dinner, sitting at a table by the window. The studio had made sure the restaurant was empty except for them. If John hadn't been enjoying himself so much, he would have found the atmosphere absolutely eerie.

Fortunately, Sarah was easy to talk to.

"...I do really love the work," she was saying. "It's a nice atmosphere, and the patients aren't terrible."

"I remember it being nice to work in London," John reminisced between bites of dessert. "I'm not sure how long it's been since I've actually done just that."

"I'm sure it'll be a good transition." Sarah was smiling sweetly around her cup of tea. John was smiling stupidly, but he hadn't realized it. He probably wouldn't. "I'm sure you'll enjoy being in London again."

John wasn't so sure. He didn't actually know what he would do in London. It had been too long since he was a civilian. Could he even handle a normal job? Or a normal schedule? Being normal might be impossible now.

He decided to change the subject. The rose had been sitting on the table in front of them the whole time, anyway. He picked it up and offered it to her.

"Um, I've really enjoyed today." John shifted in seat, nervous. "And, I just wanted to say thank you, and, ah, will you accept this rose?"

Sarah chuckled while reaching out for the flower. "Of course, John. Thank you."

He silently watched as she put the rose beside her plate and smiled up at him. John was suddenly aware of Sarah's closeness. And the quiet. And the beautiful, romantic atmosphere, and her beautiful loving smile. He couldn't help but lean in and kiss her. Sweet, gentle, and slow - perfect.

And awful. So, so painfully awful.

He liked Sarah. A lot. He respected her as a person. Everything on this incredibly perfect date had been easy and natural and comfortable. There was no discomfort in even the silences. So how was he going to sit there and kiss her and pretend that he wouldn't have to kiss possibly all seventeen girls and Sherlock over the next two days?

John Watson may not be naive, but that certainly didn't mean that he felt good about this situation. He wasn't a cheater and he wasn't a playboy, no matter how well he got on with women. Dating more than one girl was not something he could enjoy and be proud of.

And it hurt that his first kiss with Sarah was also his first non-exclusive relationship.

X

"It was perfect." John's smile had a heavy hint of a subtle melancholy. "I can definitely see myself with her for a long time. Sarah is great."

X

"Everything was so amazing," Sarah sighed. "He's charming and handsome and sweet. I don't think it gets better than this."

X

"OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD!" Ear-piercing as, sadly, more than one person started screaming. Sherlock was just glad that the delivered invitation meant that he could leave soon. He wouldn't have to fight for the telly in his room.

"Jennifer, Lucy, Rachel, Adele, Ellen," Lucy read, clutching the paper to her chest, "Laura, Amelia, Tara, Andrea, and Sherlock. Let's go down to the farm together. OH MY GOD!"

"What do you think we're doing?" Laura squealed, clustered around Lucy, like almost all the other girls. "Do you think we're going to go see an exhibit?"

Ugh, Sheep. Probably herding or shearing, Sherlock surmised. There weren't many other kinds of farms around this area.

"I dunno. Could be anything." Amelia was smiling contentedly.

Sherlock got up to leave, brushing past a few women in his quest for escape.

"You spoil the fun, faggot." Behind him there was a whisper, and Sherlock didn't have to look to know it was Tara.

So he just kept walking.

X

"I'm so excited that he's invited me. I mean, I'm not entirely sure why he's invited Sherlock," Rachel said to the camera. "It's kind of rude to be spending to so much time with him so early on."

She looked questioningly at the camera.

"Don't you agree?"

X

"It's great to be invited out," Amelia giggled. "I'm really excited to get to know John better. I mean, that's why we're all here, yeah?"

X

It was dark, it was quiet. There was probably a camera down the hall; Sherlock didn't really care. This had to be done, and he'd been steeling himself since John had gotten back twenty minutes ago. His entire suitcase had been turned inside out, and repacked.

Knock on the door. No going back now.

"Sherlock?" John exclaimed as he pulled the door back. "What's going on? Did something happen?"

Why did John always have to be so genuine and concerned? Why? It made doing things so much harder. Sherlock was already starting to feel the guilt settle in, just for making him worried.

"Ah, John." He tried not to look him in the eyes. This was so awkward. "I seem to be unprepared for tomorrow. I wasn't expecting having to deal with sheep."

"Oh, no, Sherlock..." John's expression morphed in to a slight panic, and Sherlock knew he hadn't understood, yet.

"It's alright." Why did he feel the need to be reassuring? He usually liked people to revel in their false assumptions. "I simply need to borrow a shirt. I have a pair of trousers that should work, but I don't think silk button-ups are going to go well with sheep shearing." Seeing Sherlock embarrassed but composed was a very interesting experience. He stood casually and avoided eye contact. Glancing up hopefully as he finished, "Can I come in?"

"Yeah, of course," John exclaimed, relieved. Sherlock wasn't leaving. This was good. He limped backwards with a bit of a shuffle, making room for another person. "I probably have a suitable shirt around here somewhere."

He rummaged through a drawer for a minute and then paused and looked up sharply. Sherlock met his gaze with a quizzical eyebrow. "How did you know it was sheep shearing tomorrow?"

"Those pathetic riddles." Sherlock wrinkled his nose thinking about it. John went back to rummaging while listening. "We're going to a farm, in Ireland. What is Ireland famous for? Sheep. These productions love to explore typical regional stereotypes, and sheep shearing is definitely it. Plus it's an activity that we can compete at, which I gather from the women is usually a part of group dates."

"Ha, yeah, the producers love this kind of stuff," John laughed, and stood up, clutching a shirt. He was smiling, which Sherlock wasn't expecting. Wasn't he supposed to be angry at him for guessing the surprise? "Great job, though. I doubt many of the girls figured it out." He glanced sheepishly at the shirt he was holding. "You're a lot taller than me. Try this on before you go?"

Examining the shirt, Sherlock handed it back.

"Can you find a shirt that doesn't have army logos on it? I'd like to not be obvious if possible. The girls may conceivably hurt me."

John's turn to be embarrassed. He immediately grabbed a different shirt. "This one?"

"I'll try it. Also, what size are your feet?"

"Eight and a half. Why?"

Sherlock frowned and turned to face the wall before unbuttoning his shirt.

"Never mind. It's not important." John got a glimpse of pale skin on a thin torso as Sherlock gracefully pulled on the t-shirt. He felt himself flush a bit at the other man's nudity. Seeing each other shirtless had happened constantly in the army. Somehow that was far different than seeing Sherlock shirtless. He wasn't so much aroused as he was getting the sense that he was somehow intruding.

He only got a moment to wonder if that was because he was interested in what Sherlock looked like underneath the layers of clothing, or if it was just the juxtaposition of civilian activities and a soldier's mind.

Then Sherlock spun around, T-shirt on, and midriff bare. John muffled a snort of laughter.

"Do you maybe have something longer?" Sherlock asked, slightly embarrassed. John's laughter hadn't made him ashamed, like he had expected. The whole thing was too light-hearted for him to be uncomfortable. That was quite something, since he usually only exposed this amount of skin in his room with the door locked...and all the lights off.

"I think so," John said giggling, already back at the drawer. "How about this one?"

Sherlock caught the plaid tangle and switched shirts quickly, not bothering to turn this time. This one was better - a short-sleeved, casual button-up - but far too tight. Any movement was restricted, and he looked a gay farmer. Not really all that flattering, and yet somehow appropriate.

John was staring.

"You're so thin," John muttered, looking...concerned. At least, concerned and a little confused. "I wasn't expecting that."

"I apologize for not being as...muscular as you expected?" Sherlock's turn for confusion. He wasn't used to anyone but Mrs. Hudson giving him the "why are you not eating" stare. To have a man he barely knew do so was odd, to say the least.

"No, no. I just hope they feed you well during this thing," John started rummaging again, trying to keep his mother hen side hidden. And failing. He shouldn't be mothering Sherlock. Not this early on. "You're just bordering on unhealthy."

"Thank you, doctor." Sherlock rolled his eyes as John passed the next shirt over. He started to change. "Excessive eating slows the brain. And I never have been one for 'working out.'"

He didn't know why he felt the need to defend himself. Normally he just told people something along the lines of "Piss off" - or "Thank you," if he were feeling less irritable that day. John didn't stir the same anger that normally would flare.

"That one fits!" John exclaimed, pointing at Sherlock's most recent shirt. Almost celebratory. He probably wanted to get rid of him now. "I mean, the sleeves are a tad short, but it can definitely go in the possibilities pile."

Pile? So, John didn't want him to leave immediately? Interesting.

The shirt did indeed fit, though the sleeves were several inches short. The actual shirt was quite long, so it covered Sherlock's middle, and fit around the chest. Hmm, getting closer.

X

"I had to borrow some sunblock as well," Sherlock recounted to his confessional. "Unfortunately, I'm very sensitive to the sun. But the honest tragedy is that John's feet aren't the right size."

X

It really was awkward to stand in a field wearing a pair of dress shoes. Comfortable loafers, yes, but still far dressier than they should have been. Any indication of being ill-prepared really stung. His public image was everything; being caught off guard was one of the worst things to happen in a casual setting. Even something so small was an indication of disorganization - a flaw that could be taken advantage of. Social interaction was a war between the self and the other, more so in this case. And he had just lost one battle.

At least John's shirt had fit. They had gone through quite a few to find the right one. It had been settled that he would borrow a casual long-sleeve T-shirt that was long enough in the torso to not be obvious. The sleeves were still short, though, and Sherlock had subtly rolled them to the elbow to hide this fact. If all went well his only obvious mistake would be the fact that he didn't own sneakers.

They had toured the facilities earlier. It actually had been rather boring, but most of the girls oooed and ahhhed and giggled over sheep anyway. Insipid. Obviously trying to impress John. Most of them probably hated sheep as much as Sherlock did.

Though he did make note of the jumpers John bought from the gift shop. What man would want four Irish jumpers? Excluding someone who was above the age of sixty.

The interesting part hadn't started until they got out on to the field. Set up for their leisure were a dozen sheep, two pens, a podium, and all the tools for sheep shearing: baskets for catching the wool, shears, and harnesses. The sheep also seemed a little dazed and sluggish. Sherlock watched as one nuzzled a tuft of grass without managing to actually bite it.

So they had drugged the sheep. Not enough to completely sedate them, but enough to make them malleable. Either the farmers or the producers really had no faith in their participants. Last time he checked, sheep weren't exactly on the "animals that might kill you" list.

John had immediately taken to the podium, and the rest of them started to gather around him.

"So, I guess everyone's figured this challenge out, yeah?" John smiled as he talked. He was surprisingly good a public speaking. "We're going to split all ten of you into two teams which means you get six sheep to five of you. What each team has to do is herd their sheep in to their pens..."

John waved at the field.

"And then you'll work together and shear two of your sheep. First team done is the winner."

Lucy's hand shot up. "I can be on your team?" She asked. Sherlock restrained the urge to slap her, but John just smiled.

"I'm going to be judging. Whoever does the best job at helping their team will get a rose later tonight." He waved the sudden whispering in to silence. "Should we split you up now?"

X

"Being in the army is almost entirely about teamwork," John confessed to the camera. "It's really important to be able to work together when you need to, even if you don't necessarily like each other. It's a hard lesson to learn, too."

There was an oddly wistful tone to his voice.

"That's why I wanted to see how well the girls could work together. This kind of rivalry is intense, and I want to see who can overcome it."

He smiled disarmingly.

"Also, who doesn't like sheep?"

X

"I hate sheep." Ellen certainly didn't look pleased. "I had to work on a farm for a few years when I was younger, and the smell of them could kill a horse."

Her face showed exactly how disgusted she was.

"I am not looking forward to touching one."

X

"Sheep are cute," Adele said with a forced smile, "but I'm not really sure about this shearing thing. I'm a vegetarian. I know it's not meat, but something about making an animal sit still while I cut all its hair off isn't sitting quite right."

The smile faded, awkwardly.

X

Sherlock had pulled a blue stick from the hat. Nothing was wrong with that; blue is a nice enough colour and it was a good way to randomize teams. The problem was his teammates. The two women he had so far managed to not alienate - Jennifer and Andrea - were on the opposite side. His team consisted of Tara, Lucy, Rachel, Laura, and himself. All whom he was entirely certain hated him, on one level or another. Plus, they had unrealistic expectations of masculinity, which always bothered him.

"You're the guy so we should have an advantage with you," Lucy had more or less commanded him. "Pull your weight and we should win no problem."

"Don't put too much pressure on him," Tara had chided her. The false sweetness tasted sharper than aspartame. "He couldn't keep up his girlish figure if he had muscles."

"Yes, of course. Let us get as stereotypical as possible," Sherlock said dryly. "Because no one can think of more creative ways to be nasty to each other."

The whistle blew and John called for them to line up.

"Everyone ready?" He half-yelled from his podium. Each team had their sheep in front of them. "Alright, clock starts in three, two... ONE!"

And off they went. Sherlock felt a bit stupid as he and his team members formed a little half circle around the lazily moving sheep. They had to physically push them to get the sheep to move quicker, and that was causing a mess too. They galloped straight, missing the turn to the gate, forcing all five of them to scramble to cover the flanks of their herd. It was madness. Very smelly, sheepy madness.

They were too focused on their own mostly silent displeasure to notice the other team. Amelia had taken charge fairly naturally, and was calmly directing each of them.

"Watch that one on the left, Adele!" she called as she gently pushed the sheep nearest to her into a slow trot. "He's gonna bolt if we're not careful! Keep it up, ladies!"

As the other team madly tried to correct their herd's direction, Team Amelia's sheep were slowly filtering in to their pen. All except for one. Despite her warnings, the sheep on the left made a sharp ninety degree turn to run along the edge of the fence, Adele squealing and jumping out of the way as he came at her.

"Oh for..." Amelia cut herself off. And dodged wildly in front of their rogue sheep. "Keep them going in! I'll get him!"

The other sheep were managed quickly. Herd animals prefer to stay in the herd after all. And Amelia had been surprisingly fast and managed to intercept the lone sheep. Jennifer and Andrea left Adele and Ellen to block the gate, putting themselves in the right position to funnel the miscreant back to the others. If that wasn't great teamwork, John didn't know what was.

Sadly, due to their rogue, both teams got their herds in to the pens at almost the same time. The competition was going to be tough.

John kind of wished he could hear what they were saying.

"MOVE! WHY DON'T YOU MOVE?" Sherlock screamed at the women, while holding a sheep on its back, as tightly as he could. Laura had grabbed the other end, keeping the sheep's legs in a death grip as Tara, Lucy, and Rachel took delicate snips of wool off the animal. "You are not going to hurt its feelings if you cut the hair unevenly!"

"Shut the fuck up, faggot," Tara snarled, clearly out of patience. "You can stick your dick in it later, we're going as fast as we can."

"Homosexuality and bestiality are not the same thing, if that was what you were going for," Sherlock snapped back. "Keep your commentary to yourself. We have enough stress without you."

"Both of you, shut the fuck up," Laura gritted. "This is not the time for your personal grudge match. And Rachel, if you're not going to cut faster, take over from Sherlock or me."

Rachel picked up speed, but she was definitely burgeoning on tears. Sherlock didn't even care.

Not like it mattered, because Amelia's team won, anyway. They somehow had managed to shear two sheep at the same time.

Frustration wasn't a strong enough word.

X

"WOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Amelia crowed to the camera. "That was possibly the best thing I've done in a long while."

She tossed her black hair a little, mussing up her already windblown bob.

"I mean, seriously. That was utterly exhilarating."

X

"We could've done better," Laura grumbled. "The grudge holding is getting a touch ridiculous. I don't like him either. Or Tara, or Rachel, for that matter. Lucy's okay. But I managed to not act like a toddler. What's their problem?"

X

Tara was too busy fuming to actually form a sentence.

X

"I can't believe we couldn't manage to sheer two heavily drugged sheep." Sherlock had a hand up to his face, trying to hide his utter humiliation. "I don't think I've ever felt more _utterly_ fucking pathetic."

X

"I think everyone did great," John proclaimed happily. "Amelia was a fantastic leader, but it was also nice just to be able to see everyone work together. No matter how rough the interaction was."

X

The restaurant they arrived at was beautiful, and empty. It wasn't as upscale as some of the women had been expecting - just an elegant Irish tavern, with wood paneling on the walls and lush carpets in the dining room. The expense was obviously understated, rather than extravagant. Somehow Sherlock wasn't surprised at John's choice.

There was a rose already sitting on the table when they arrived and, as always, a few girls started whispering among themselves, very excitedly. Sherlock picked the chair at the end of the table and sat down. John's chair was square in the middle of the group, and he was easily crowded by women in less than a second. The girls who weren't fawning over John were ogling the rose like it was a diamond ring.

Sherlock was not in the mood for watching desperate women act like whores. Fortunately, the host walked in right then to explain the concept of "alone time on group dates."

X

John's very first one-on-one conversation was going badly. He'd made the apparently unforgivable mistake of asking Rachel how everything was among the girls (and Sherlock). She had been alternating between wide-eyed gossip and almost tears ever since.

"...Adele hasn't eaten a thing of meat, and the other girls are worried she's starving herself to be prettier, but she says she's just a vegetarian." Rachel had recounted rumours about every woman. It was getting a touch ridiculous. John just wanted to know how bad the inevitable fighting was, not every detail of everyone's private life. "We found a piece of fish in the couch yesterday, and I'm pretty sure she put it there. Probably trying to hide her eating disorder."

"I doubt anyone put the fish there on purpose," John soothed mechanically. "Accidents happen, after all."

"I know, but, it's all so dramatic," she continued, clearly not registering what John had actually said. "I've never dealt with so much drama before, and it's so hard." She looked like she was about to cry again, so John patted her arm. "And Sherlock makes it all worse."

That had John's hackles up. "Why?" He asked sharply. She flinched.

"He's just so abrasive, and he already sticks out, being the only guy, which is totally not fair," she babbled. "I mean, there are more of us, sure, but, he's just... he has an advantage."

"I assure you Sherlock being male doesn't give him an advantage." John wasn't even sure what he was hearing. He wasn't even gay. How on earth could Sherlock's presence be unfair? "If anything, it's the opposite."

"Well, he could at least try to get along with the rest of us. He talks to us like we're idiots, he spends most of the day reading, and he's not really normal. It's just so hard to have him there and also have him being so... weird."

Thus far John had not seen anything to label Sherlock as "weird." Aloof, yes, and a bit abrasive, he could see where that came from. It probably didn't help that the women were almost certainly not happy to have him there. But reading for entertainment was weird? Or was she just picking on his sexuality? Uncomfortably John had to remind himself that he wasn't even sure what that was yet.

But if it was the latter, John wasn't about to tolerate that kind of ignorance.

"I think our time's up," he said, politely helping her to her feet. "Time to go."

"Ah! Well, thank you for listening." She gave him a peck on the mouth, and John felt his stomach settle again. He had to get used to this. Had to. "I'm glad to have someone who cares about how ridiculous this is."

X

"Oh my gosh, this is ridiculous!" Amanda screamed, clearly not upset about it. "I'm so happy for you, Karen!"

There was a little bit of jumping and screaming and hugging, as the girls back in the hotel celebrated Karen's invitation. She had gotten a note that said "Prepare for the royal treatment". Surprisingly, no one was acting jealous.

X

"I'll get a chance at the rose ceremony," Amanda smiled. "Besides, there's lots of interesting things to do here."

X

"Well, I'm a bit disappointed," Cecilia admitted, "but Karen's been wonderful and I'll have a chance later. There's no reason to take it out on her."

X

Tara had been glaring daggers at him all night. She'd taken a bit of a break to throw some at Amelia when the Korean girl came back with the rose, but otherwise? It was all Sherlock. If her stares hadn't been so sharp, someone might have thought she was smitten.

Sherlock wished she could be more subtle. The obviousness bored him.

X

"YES!" Amelia threw her arms up, rose clutched tightly in one fist. "VICTORY!"

X

"So," John started, filling the beginning of what he hoped would be a less awkward conversation than the last few. Sherlock just looked at him, patiently waiting. "What was it you said you did for a living? Consulting detective?"

"World's _only_ consulting detective," Sherlock corrected with a smirk. It seemed that work was definitely a topic of interest. "When the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me."

"But the police don't consult amateurs." John found himself more confused, rather than less.

"Obviously. I'm not an amateur." Sherlock leaned forward in his seat. "I see what the police do not."

"What do you mean?" John could feel Sherlock's excitement, energy coursing through the other. He was so alive.

"How well would you say we know each other?" Sherlock queried.

"Not overly well. We've talked to each other twice, and I know they gave you a biography that basically said my name and that I was an army doctor. They had me proof-read it. Why?"

"Because I know far more about you than you think." His eyes glittered with a little bit of mischief. "Yes, your out-of-season tan says that you've been somewhere warm over the winter, the fact that it ends at your collar and your wrists, suggests that you weren't there for pleasure, and, of course, your haircut says military. That's easy. You walk with a cane, but don't ask for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about it, which points to the limp being at least partially psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the wound were traumatic, wounded in action, then. The way you favour your left arm, and the fact that you hold your cane on our right side - the same side as your injured leg - say that the real wound is probably a shoulder wound, possibly with some complications that could cause swelling and hinder movement, judging by the sweaters you bought, presumably to keep your shoulder joints warm.

"Either that or you have an inordinate love for Irish wool. Both are possibilities, I suppose." Sherlock had gestured at each piece of evidence as he went through his list of amazingly accurate information. John tried to control the look of surprise on his face, but he felt like he was failing. "And I've had most of that information since the very first night. I am no amateur."

Flabbergasted wasn't a good enough word. Looking at Sherlock's confident expression, he knew it wasn't a bluff. Plus, every word was right.

"That... was amazing." It seriously was. The fact that anyone could get so much information from such little details was astonishing.

"Do you think so?" Sherlock parried.

"Of course it was! It was extraordinary, quite extraordinary." John wasn't sure how Sherlock doubted that.

"That's not what people normally say," Sherlock admitted.

"What do people normally say?"

"Piss off."

X

By the time the awkward dinner was over, and everyone had gotten back, there wasn't much more to do than sleep. Running after sheep was far more exhausting than most of the girls could handle, and Sherlock simply didn't want to talk to them. He had other things to think about.

Like John. And how John didn't seem to have ulterior motives in any interaction. It was making it very hard for Sherlock to keep his guard up around the doctor. He was honest and open, and seemed to genuinely want to get to know everyone, if he was going to have to talk to them anyway. Sherlock couldn't think of a single other person he'd met who didn't talk to people for a reason, including himself. And John had shown some very strong respect by not pressuring Sherlock into a kiss. The detective knew he was supposed to. The producers must have been hounding him from the first second he got out of that damn limo. The fact that he didn't - assumedly based on their early conversations - was very telling of the kind of man he was.

Either that, or he was trying to tell Sherlock that he was uninterested, romantically.

And though Sherlock thought he was okay with that, he didn't want to leave just yet. He had been expecting a den of easily manipulated bitches, and a man that was a lot stupid and a bit shallow. Instead, he'd got John.

At least the den of bitches was just as expected.

X

"I had no idea what to expect when I got in that car," Karen gushed. "And then when we got there all I could think was 'oh my gosh, how lucky am I?' But really, this will be amazing."

X

John had brought Karen to a castle. Rented out and decorated, with a full "medieval town" set up behind it, for them to enjoy. The town was full of reenactment actors being paid extra to do what they normally did with more talking and standing around, so everyone seemed to be in a really good mood. Including Karen.

"Just wait until I tell my dad," She cried, picking up some of the woodcarvings for sale. "He'll love these. He always used to carve me little birds out of tree branches when I was a kid."

John watched as she smiled serenely, obviously fond of the memory. "Does your father run the vineyard with you?"

"He's retired," she said matter-of-factly. "He passed it on to me last year before my mother and him split. I got it because my sister's a twat and he didn't want mum to take him for half."

"I'm sorry," John apologized. He didn't mean to bring up family issues. "It sounds like a bad situation."

"Nah," she laughed. Okay, not upset, then. Good. She was more forthcoming than John had expected, and he liked it. It was endearing. "Mum's great as long as she doesn't have to live with my dad. And I love the vineyard. We work better as a family now than we ever did before."

"Yeah, it's funny how that happens sometimes." John wistfully thought of his own dysfunctional family. "Whereabouts is the vineyard?"

"Surrey. I live there with my dad, now."

"Absolutely gorgeous area," John smiled. "I hope I get to see it some time?"

"You definitely will!" Karen lit up. It was obvious that she really loved the place. "Even if I don't win, stop by anyway, okay? If you're going to disappoint me, the least you can do is buy me some of my own wine."

X

There was a note under his door. A very nasty note. Not the kind one wanted to wake up to in the morning, but Sherlock relished it nonetheless. After all, it gave him something to do.

The note was also very direct:

_Just so you know, a few of us have agreed that you're causing unnecessary trouble here. John is not gay, and he's said as much himself, so we don't know what you're even doing here. No one likes you, and since John doesn't either, it's probably best for your sake if you leave. We'd be happy to help you pack._

_Sincerely,_

_The bachelorettes_

Cute. Very high school. Almost pathetically obvious. Most likely written by Tara, and maybe one or two other girls. But only if she actually had managed to gather any support at all, which was doubtful. She wasn't exactly nice to the other women, either.

Sherlock grabbed his book on anatomy (he was memorizing major arteries along with the quickest way to reach them) and a piece of tape. He tacked the note up on the front door of the girls' room, and then settled in to his usual chair.

Exposing the fact that he was being ineffectually bullied would bring out the girls who either wanted to look tolerant or were genuinely horrified by that kind of behaviour. It was an easy way to both cause discord and to make sure that he knew which girls considered themselves his allies, at this point.

It didn't take long for the note to gain attention. Laura walked by it, then instantly doubled back to read it. She was younger than most of the other girls - high school shenanigans were probably still fresh in her mind. Once she started reading, so did a few other girls, and then they started whispering and glancing back at him. Sherlock could make out a few covert "oh my gods" and "who?" coming from the cluster.

He had expected one or two people to come up to him. He hadn't expecting half a dozen to surround him. There was only a minute to wonder if his plan had backfired.

"Sherlock," Jennifer addressed him, quietly. "I hope you know that note is completely not true. We don't even know who would write that."

"Except maybe Tara." Sherlock was surprised Laura had come over. He knew she didn't like him. "I mean, yeah, we're not all best friends. But telling someone to leave? Not okay. You have as much right to be here as we do."

"Ah, thank you." Sherlock wasn't sure what else to say. He was pretty sure he was feeling embarrassment from all the attention.

"Just don't let it get you down, okay?" Andrea chimed in. "We're not all complete bitches."

"I know." He did know. He knew more than they thought he did. "I appreciate the support. Thank you."

Well, that was pleasant. It seemed the girls hated bitches more than they hated him. Ironic, really, considering what they had signed up for.

Over the next few hours he had a few more girls come up to him and tell him they weren't co-writers of the note. Amelia, Cecilia, Anna. Sarah. And then, slightly after the lunch Sherlock had passed on, Tara.

"I don't know who told you I wrote that note, but I fucking didn't," Tara pretty much yelled at him. Extremely defensive. Sign of guilt. "You can stop telling people that."

"I didn't say anything about our speculative author," Sherlock countered. He put his book down. "I believe assumptions were possibly made based on how obviously you hate me."

"Of course I fucking hate you, you're a fame-seeking faggot." Tara was yelling about six inches form his face. And snarling. "And now you're a liar too."

_Aggressive_ defending of herself, without provision of evidence. Definitely guilty. He was unwilling to back down at this point, despite the unpleasantness of getting spat on.

"And you're a bitch. You've proven as much, which is more than you can say about me. You're also incredibly homophobic, and apparently have the self-esteem of a particularly ugly donkey. Perhaps you should stop making such spectacles, if you don't want anyone to accuse you of the truth?"

And there it was, her hand flying down to meet his face. Fortunately half-anorexic models were a weaker lot than the people Sherlock usually fought. It was a matter of mere reflexes to stop her hand.

"Fuck you, AIDS boy," she growled. "I hope someone kills you on the side of a road."

"I see you've reached the bottom of your stereotypical insult bag," Sherlock retorted. "May I go back to my book now?"

"Fuck you."

Violently, she pulled away and started stalking back to her room. Almost everyone else was just staring.

"Fuck you too!" Sherlock called after her, cheerily.

X

They were decked out in cheesy capes and fake crowns when they entered the dinning room. Hundreds of candles were scattered around the hall, with a beautiful oak table set up just for them, complete with a bouquet of flowers, and gorgeous cloths draped over the chairs and table. After a day of wandering through castle rooms, talking to each other about trivial matters, and meandering through the castle's town, they were both exhausted. But the breathtaking sight of dinner in a palace was well worth it. Karen's jaw dropped.

"You did not. Oh my god, you did not." John was pleased at her flabbergasted exclamations. Apparently castle dinners were as romantic as he thought they were. "This is all for us?"

"I thought it would be a nice way to end the day," he smiled, blushing. It really had been a great day. Like something out of _Lord of the Rings_. "Let me get you a chair."

He led her to one of the seats, and pulled it out while she sat down. Then, reaching to the bouquet, he pulled out the only rose amid the other flowers.

Dropping to one knee beside her, and holding out the rose, he addressed her. "My lady, will you accept this rose?"

Karen squealed. He knew she'd like that. "Of course. Definitely. Oh my gosh yes."

Before grabbing the rose, she kissed him long and hard. It was a great kiss. And John must be getting used to this kissing many girls thing because, for once, his stomach didn't betray him.

X

"That was amazing," John beamed. "Utterly so. I guess my romantic radar still works. I almost wish I could do this again."

X

"Drama today was ridiculous," Stacy grumbled. "I cannot fucking believe some people. Hello? Can't we just keep our mouths shut and our thoughts to ourselves? Like adults?"

X

"I tried to cheer him up some, but I guess he didn't feel that bad," Amanda sighed. "I mean, one of these days I'm hoping to have two birds eating out of my hand. If you know what I mean. But so far I've only got to spend time with Sherlock."

Her face lit up a bit.

"Though tall dark and mysterious is totally my type..."

X

The cocktail party had begun fairly quietly. Sherlock had spent the evening off to the side, much like he had spent the day. He wasn't quite sure how to handle the support most of the girls had given him, and he took the time to think. There was a certainty that some of the girls simply wanted to appear nicer than they were. That couldn't account for that many comments, though, could it? For a dozen people to go out of their way to make sure he knew they didn't want him to leave... Well, it seemed a bit excessive.

Regardless, Sherlock had felt out of his depth. People's emotions made them do odd things, and he currently didn't know why. He just hoped it wasn't pity. For now, he wanted to stand back and observe.

"Hey handsome, how ya feeling?" Amanda crooned as she came over. She wasn't faking drunkenness tonight.

"Fine, thank you." He was glad for the post he was leaning against. At least she couldn't sit too close this time.

"Good. I was worried you were feeling lonely by yourself." She smiled shyly. "You know, you can always talk to me, right? If something's happened, I mean."

Talk to her? What the hell was this girl getting at? Hadn't he had enough conversation over the last twenty-four hours?

"I'm fine, thank you. I don't believe there's anything to discuss." He wondered if he could edge away. Somehow, talking to her always made him uncomfortable and - despite his considerable deductive prowess - he wasn't quite sure why. Maybe it was the fact that he always felt like they were having two different conversations when she spoke to him? Anyway, he settled for the slightly less rude route tonight, and simply avoided eye contact, instead watching the different cliques of women form.

"Well, you must be looking for some peace and quiet. Why don't we go find somewhere quieter?" She had moved subtly closer. Sherlock was losing patience.

"It's plenty quiet right here. Or it was." Fine. The ruder approach it was.

She rolled her eyes, a touch of irritation showing. "Men just don't pick up hints like they used to." What the hell did that mean?

John walked in to the room and made eye contact with him. Just at the same time Amanda grabbed Sherlock's crotch.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Sherlock screeched, admittedly louder than he had intended to. He had pretty much jumped out of his skin at the contact. For the first time, he bothered to look at her, and was met with her unimpressed expression which clearly said "do you get it now?"

John had scurried over, with a far milder limp than before, coming up beside them before Amanda saw him. She flushed red when she noticed him.

"What would be going on here?" John asked, surprisingly calm. Sherlock wasn't sure he could manage the same level of composure. "Sherlock?"

"I... I'm not sure." He wasn't. What had just happened? He was flustered, and spitting out words without thinking. Trying to control the rising tide of panic that had started his heart hammering in his chest, Sherlock covertly bit his tongue just to give him something else to focus on. What the FUCK just happened?

Amanda stepped in, quietly.

"Sorry, John, I just was trying to send a message to Sherlock here. He doesn't pay much attention otherwise." She was pretending to be calm, but not doing a good job of it. Her smile looked a little too forced.

"Ah, well. I recommend not doing it again," John responded, obviously confused and disbelieving. "I'm fairly certain Sherlock did not appreciate it."

"I definitely did not!" The victim in question was instinctively sidling closer to John. "I don't know why that would be appropriate in any setting."

Sherlock felt the awkwardness set in. He wished he could sink in to the floor in embarrassment. Obviously, he had missed something somewhere along the line. And it killed him to miss anything.

The three of them stood in silence for a few seconds before John managed to change the subject.

"Ah, I think it's Sherlock's turn for alone time now, anyway." John grabbed his hand, and Sherlock felt himself blush at the second unexpected physical contact of the night. "If you'll excuse us."

He could see everyone staring as John led him away. Once again, he was the spectacle.

X

"Oh my god, when she grabbed his crotch, I thought he was going to have an aneurism," Karen half-screamed. "Poor bloke got fondled right out of the blue."

She was laughing, though. Not shocked.

"I guess we should've seen it coming. Amanda's been going on about him for a while."

X

"What a slut!" Lucy yelled. "Can you imagine? Hitting on someone other than John is just... "

She couldn't finish. The rage filled the screen before she could continue her offended tirade.

"What a pathetic slut!"

X

"Well, that was unexpected," John laughed once they settled in to their chairs. He patted Sherlock on the knee, while the detective continued to blush furiously. "How long has she been hitting on you?"

"I don't know. I don't think she has been..." He wasn't entirely convinced. And John was touching him, and it wasn't unpleasant, whereas Amanda - and every other moment of physical contact in Sherlock's life - had pretty well made him sick.

"Yes, Sherlock, that is definitely what it was. And I doubt she hasn't been gearing up for this for awhile" John was mocking him. Good-naturedly, but still. He shouldn't be laughing this much.

"She might have just, I don't know. Decided on the spur of the moment to -" Fuck, he couldn't even finish that sentence. Sherlock was not pouting. That was not his pouty face.

"I can't think of another reason for a woman to grab your crotch randomly. Can you?"

He refused to answer that. There had to be another reason. Maybe she was distracting him? He could not have missed something so obvious.

John took one look at his face, and started to rub his knee. Sherlock knew he was blushing again.

"This is what you meant by 'not really your area?'" He wasn't sure if the sympathy made him feel better, or worse.

"Yes, it would be." Could he hide in the couch? Hiding would be nice. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to go out there and mingle with all those women after this. It was a terrifying prospect. They now knew his blind spot.

"Well, I'll take care of it, okay?" John was standing up now. That had been shorter than he wanted. The fact that he wanted more was unnerving too. Maybe he should just kill himself and save any further embarrassment. This was getting ridiculous. And with John's last phrase he was sure that he had now arrived at the end of the line on this pathetic program. Great. He got to go out with a whore grabbing his junk.

"We're going to rose ceremony after this, so get ready," John said helping him up.

He wondered what he was bracing for.

X

Dave was waiting for them in the ceremony room.

"Ladies, and gentleman, it's been an interesting week here in Ireland," he said, his false charm dripping off of every syllable. John just stood awkwardly beside him. "There were castles, and islands, and more sheep than any of you could ever want. Amelia, Karen, Sarah - all three of you are safe. John, if you're ready to begin."

He waved at the platter of roses and gracefully bowed out. John picked up the first one.

"Sherlock," he said without hesitation. Sherlock was a bit surprised to be called first or at all, but he made his way down to where John was. "Will you accept this rose?"

"Yes. Of course," Sherlock answered.

John gave him a one-armed hug when he took the flower, once again surprising Sherlock. He wasn't sure if he was okay with all this casual touching, but the shock that he hadn't been kicked unceremoniously to the curb overtook any questioning of it right now.

"Laura," he called next. Then Lucy, then Adele, then Stephanie, then Jennifer, then Andrea. Stacy. Cecilia. Ellen - whose name John obviously was still struggling to remember.

"Tara," John called. Sherlock made note that not only was Tara a bitch, she was of the species _Bitchus two-faceicus_. He wondered how long it would take John to realize that she wasn't a nice as she tried to be to him?

Unfortunately, Sherlock figured it would take a long time. Possibly forever.

Emily. Then Dave reappeared to make his announcement. Rachel, Amanda, and Anna were left. Anna was starting to cry, and Rachel looked absolutely panicked. Amanda simply stared at her feet.

"Ladies, this is the final rose this evening."

And poof, he was gone. John was standing clutching the last rose, looking out at the group in front of him.

"Anna," he called, giving the upset woman a peck on the head, when she finally scrambled down to get her rose.

"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you so much."

X

"Yeah, I knew that was coming," Amanda sighed. "So much for snagging two men at once."

X

Rachel was blubbering.

"I can't believe this. I trusted him. I thought he was listening to me," she cried. "I really thought we had something. He was so nice."

She wailed a bit, before continuing.

"I guess people aren't always as good as they seem to be."

X

Well. John actually had fixed it. At least, one of the more uncomfortable issues. Sherlock could handle Tara. He obviously couldn't handle sexual advances and obviously couldn't detect subtle ones. And getting rid of one source of stress was very welcome.

Gratitude. He was really grateful. This was new.

X

"Sherlock?" John asked, opening the door. The rose ceremony had ended twenty minutes ago and he was getting ready for bed. He definitely hadn't been expecting visitors.

"I brought you your shirt back," Sherlock mumbled, handing the article back to him, already neatly folded. He was flushing a little. "I've washed it for you."

"Ah, thanks, Sherlock." That was really thoughtful. Though it was a strange errand for three in the morning.

"Thank you. For lending me the shirt, I mean." He seemed really nervous, for unknown reasons. It was just a shirt, after all.

"Not a problem. Any time." John smiled encouragingly.

"I can see you're getting ready for bed" - pajamas, ruffled bed sheets in the background - "so I'll let you sleep."

And before John could protest, he was gone.

Well, that was certainly abrupt and unusual. He shrugged and closed the door again, putting the shirt on top of the dresser. He'd have to pack it tomorrow anyway. It was really nice of Sherlock to wash it first. One less thing for John to do himself.

As he turned toward the bed, he noticed a piece of paper that must have been folded up in the clothing. Picking it up, he read the note slowly.

_Thank you for understanding... And not laughing too hard._

_Sherlock_

John smiled. He was glad to help.


	3. Episode 3

Episode Three

Traveling had been unexpectedly pleasant. Sherlock welcomed the quiet, and the lack of interaction. The crew had filmed for a bit as they landed, getting some footage of the girls screaming over Paris. Sherlock had stood on the edges of the crowd. Paris was nice, but he somehow suspected he would be stuck in their hotel room, rather than sightseeing. He'd already had a date, and he could hardly expect John to choose him twice in a row.

After said screaming, they were given their usual time to unpack and settle themselves in, where Sherlock mostly kept to himself and avoided the others. He hated flying - too many things that could go wrong, too many people that had to be relied on. He preferred ground transit, when at all possible. The fact that this insipid show insisted on flying everywhere was just one more reason to hate it.

And now, he found himself shuffled into a room that was two girls less full, but somehow just as cloistered, waiting for an invite he was sure he wouldn't get. He sighed heavily, looking forward to a weekend of boredom while stuck in a city filled with history and excitement.

Wasn't he supposed to be getting rid of his boredom?

"I really hope I get the first date," Lucy was opining to the nearest listener - Anna, in this case. "Or at least _a_ date. I'm just dying for some time with John."

"It would be so romantic to tour Paris with him," Anna sighed. "That's probably why they brought us here."

"Obviously," Stephanie crooned, bouncing her foot with impatience. "It's just a matter of who the lucky girls are."

Tara had separated herself off, Sherlock noticed. Awkwardly standing by the window, rather than sitting with the rest of the girls. He supposed she was starting to feel a little alienated. As for himself, he still had a chair, just outside of the main group. Judging by the few suites he had been in, he would probably always have a chair to himself. Which was slightly comforting at least.

It had been a tense half hour of awkward speculation. Sherlock was sitting silently, eyes closed, hands steepled, when Dave finally walked in.

"Hello, ladies and gentleman." He rolled the words off his tongue, smiling with his usually flare. "I know you're all excited to be in the most romantic city in the world today, and I hope you're all ready for the next few dates. I've got an invite for the first date."

He flourished the note temptingly while the girls went wide-eyed.

"I expect you're all looking forward to reading it. I'll just leave it here." He dropped the note carefully on the coffee table and made his exit - as always, theatrical, quick, and very smooth. Sherlock sort of envied his ability to be dramatic.

Lucy had snatched the note up before anyone else could react. She danced around a bit, holding it out of reach of the other girls, before opening it, and reading out loud.

"Tara," she read, to a slightly shocked group of girls. Groans of disappointment started immediately, as Lucy kept reading. "Let's take a trip down the Seine together."

Well, fuck. Why didn't he just give up now?

X

"I'm very excited." Tara was smirking happily at the camera. "It's every girl's dream to have a romantic date in Paris, and I know it'll be even better with John. But best of all? I think he picked the right girl."

She ran a hand through her long brown hair, before shooting a winning smile at the camera.

"He'll definitely enjoy spending time with me."

X

"Woah, did not see that coming," Jennifer exclaimed. "I mean, I think we all knew she wasn't being nasty and stuck up to John. But I guess we kind of figured she'd just go under the radar." Her brow had furrowed really tightly. She looked very distressed. "I hope to God he sees the problem with this bitch. This is ridiculous."

X

Sherlock hadn't slept that night. He hadn't left his room yet, this morning. He had found his violin, but didn't have the energy to play it. All he could think of was how badly this next three days was going to suck. He should probably pack. John was certainly nice, but, more than likely, he was also malleable, and if Sherlock knew anything about people he knew Tara would try to slant John against him. It wasn't exactly a difficult deduction.

Not that he should care. He liked John, but he hadn't expected anything more or a longer stay than an episode or two for shock value. That was what the producers had signed him on for, after all. The fact that he had made it to episode three was about all he could expect. He knew that, yes, he would indeed be sent packing and probably soon.

But it was so fucking infuriating to be thrown out based on the assumptions and prejudices of a homophobic, two-faced, shallow woman. It didn't matter if he got to the end of the show, or anything like that. He just wanted to go out after Tara. Sherlock wanted to, hell he fucking _had_ to beat her, or else he might as well write a thesis on the non-existence of karma. He hadn't being lying when he had said he was competitive.

But the desire to win...wasn't winning.

What could he do?

_What?_

Nothing.

Nothing more than what he had already been doing. John had liked him, even when he was honest and when he pointed out the things he could see. John didn't have anything to hide, and Sherlock ... liked that. It was rare to find a person with who was honest and friendly just because they could be.

It might be his justice complex talking or maybe some kind of consideration for John's humanity, but he hoped, _hoped _that Tara wouldn't end up with this bachelor. No one deserved, well, _that_. Almost as much as he was sure he didn't deserve to go home in place of _that_, even if he had been dragged here under false pretenses. However, perhaps if the doctor was as honest as he appeared he'd see some indication of Tara's true character enough to dispel idle gossip. Sherlock wondered if maybe that would save him. But he didn't trust it.

After he heard Tara say her false goodbyes and close the door, he tried to pull himself together. He had to go out and socialize.

Agonizing.

X

John felt incredibly silly, floating down the Seine in a big empty white boat. A few days away from the girls had sensitized him to the awkwardness of this entire situation. He didn't overly like spending his dates just sitting around snogging, in the first place and unfortunately that seemed to be all this particular girl was interested in. That and looking at scenery, but primarily it was all about getting too close. John offered a silent prayer that he wouldn't have to endure this kind of clinginess with the other women. It's not like he didn't understand, but that didn't mean he had to like it. As he turned to look at Tara again, he knew she wanted him to kiss her. He simply didn't want to.

So he sidestepped. And pointed out the beautiful scenery, and talked.

"It's so incredibly lovely," Tara murmured as they passed some historic buildings. "I've been to France on photo shoots before, but I rarely get to see the city like this."

"It really is a gorgeous city," John replied, conceding his arm to her grasp. He supposed he could at least give her that. "I visited a couple times when I was younger, but it's always nice to explore."

"It's also perfect for romance," she said, whispering to him. "I'm so glad to be here with you."

"I'm glad you're here, too," John said, failing to dodge the question like he wanted to. He really was feeling physically crowded as she seemed determined to press her entire body against his. "It's incredibly peaceful, and I'm sure you haven't had enough peace lately."

"Oh god, no. It's been about as dramatic as you would expect." She shrugged.

"Big fights, then?" John was honestly curious, especially since his last attempt at reconnaissance had proven more or less futile, unless he wanted gossip.

"Not many, no. Most of us get a long just fine."

"Most of you?" She had suddenly gotten cold. John wasn't quite sure why.

"There's always a few clashes. Nothing major. Sherlock rubs a few girls the wrong way," she sniffed. "I'd rather not spend my time with you talking about other people, though."

"Ah, sorry," John muttered. He wasn't sure if he actually was. She must be having some troubles, if she was being so reticent about it. Maybe she hadn't made many friends?

The rushing water filled the silence.

Suddenly, she pulled him sideways, scurrying to the other side of the boat, with John in tow. "Oh wow, look at that! Isn't that gorgeous?"

The bridge she pointed at was definitely gorgeous. It was very similar to the last eight bridges they had gone under, but still pretty.

X

The anger was simmering now. Not in the forefront, just on a back burner, bubbling and staying hot. It was hard to not displace it on the other women, to keep it to himself. So he took it out on the remote.

"Look, I don't know who you're mad at, but can we please watch something that isn't a reality show?" Laura moaned from the couch.

"We have three channels in English. You will survive this trial," Sherlock retorted, actively engaged in flipping between the court drama - defendant was lying, but so was the prosecuting party, they were probably both in the wrong to a lesser degree than they're blaming each other for - the paternity testing talk show - last two had obviously not been the fathers of their corresponding babies, the facial structure and jaw line was all wrong - and the barely interesting talk show about rehabilitating alcoholics. Alcoholics were all the same, anyway. Not nearly as interesting as heroin addicts, meth heads, or people hooked on more volatile substances.

Why must there be _nothing_ to engage him? The least they could do was provide him with decent entertainment.

X

"I know I have another chance," Lucy was saying to Cecilia, who was being incredibly patient. "I know it, but I still feel like I've been rejected."

"It's barely the first day," Cecelia reminded. "Not like we've been here most of the week. I'm sure you'll get time later."

"But it's all so confusing. One day, he likes me and I'm sure of it, then next, I don't even know." She sighed heavily and put her head in her hands.

X

Evening was setting by the time the reached the base of the Eiffel Tower. Surprisingly - to Tara, not John - it was completely empty. Both the tower, and the area around it. Everything was empty. They started up the stairs.

"This is amazing," Tara crooned. "It's so incredible to have all of this to ourselves."

"Ha, yeah, it is." John couldn't help but agree. He had been flabbergasted at what exactly this production could do when they wanted to. Emptying the Eiffel Tower? That was big. "And it gets better."

"Really?" Tara gasped, typically wide-eyed, and surprisingly excited. "Hurry, then. It's at the top?"

"Yes," John laughed, shuffling as quickly as he could. Stairs and canes don't mix that well. "But I'm afraid I can't hurry too much."

Tara paused and looked back, where John struggled, suddenly horrified with herself. She scurried back down and gave John her arm to lean on.

"No, no, don't hurry. As long as I get there with you, the surprise can wait." She smiled sweetly, and John couldn't help but smile back.

They reached the landing quickly enough, anyway. The climb had John's leg weak and slightly numb, but it was worth it. He liked to get in a little exercise, anyway. It was good for him.

And any pain was worth the view, as well as the delighted look on Tara's face when she spotted the dinner table. Dinner for two, lit by candles, with all of Paris spread out below them. If that wasn't romantic, John didn't know what was.

The rose was on the table when they got there.

"Oh my gosh, this is beautiful," Tara sighed, taking her seat. John did the same as the private waiter sidled up from his discreet station with the chef for the evening.

"A drink, Madame?" he purred in a French accent. Tara didn't respond immediately, busy adjusting her windblown hair. "Madame?"

"Of course," she smirked. "White wine."

"Of course, And you, sir?" The waiter turned to John.

"Ah, the same, please." The waiter bowed.

"Of course, I'll be right back."

John made his move while the waiter was gone. The date had gone really well, thought bits were still a little awkward. It was the same with most of the other girls, so no problems there. It was time to get this over with.

He picked up the rose, and offered it.

X

"Mmm," Tara sniffed her rose affectionately. "It's good date that ends with a rose."

X

The girls had gathered around the coffee table for the evening's invitation. The gossiping had died down a bit, and the girls who were disappointed had stopped whining. Sherlock was waiting in silence, the same way he had been ever since the remote had been taken by the opposing camp - AKA Laura. Adele, Stephanie, and Stacy had begun the speculation.

Dave ended it, by abruptly showing up.

"Alright, ladies, time for me to deliver your invitation." A few girls stood up, prematurely. "Hold on!" Dave cried.

Then he placed the invitation directly in Stacy's hand.

"Please, read it to your eager friends." He smiled as he left. Stacy stood up, almost tearing the note open, and began to read.

"Sarah, Amelia, Adele, Ellen, Anna, Karen, Cecilia, Stephanie," she read. "Let's see who is afraid of the dark."

Sherlock rested his head in his hands. His chances of going home were just exponentially multiplied. Great. The absolute horror of losing to the homophobe was starting to sink in.

At least he didn't have to watch himself tomorrow. Maybe she could get a taste of her own medicine.

X

"Tomorrow is going to be amazing," Anna sighed. "I cannot wait to spend a bit of time with John."

X

"I've got one more chance." Lucy had obviously been crying, and her eyes looked really red and tired. "I can't imagine going a whole week without seeing John. Ten minutes at the rose ceremony isn't enough."

She turned her face away from the camera and whispered, "I don't know when I got this pathetic."

X

The next morning, when they arrived at their "destination" they had been immediately blindfolded and lead past a few sharp turns and then down a flight of stairs. Tight, narrow, spiraling stairs, where they could hear water gurgling. Very suspicious. When their blindfolds came off John stood eerily in the low light of the tunnels, surrounded by thousands of bones. Bones that made up the walls of the entire space.

They were in the catacombs of Paris.

At least three of them shrieked, and a bunch of the girls began to panic immediately. Somehow, everyone else seemed to be expecting the pandemonium. John, who hadn't, just stood quietly, a statue looming behind him, and the dramatic lighting making him seem as still as the dead around him.

"This is freaking creepy," Adele commented, as most of the girls looked around wide-eyed. She didn't seem to be too scared, however.

Anna had taken cover behind Sarah, who seemed to murmuring something comforting to her. Stephanie didn't look too pleased, but she seemed to be more in control of herself. John just smiled as the moments passed. He was quite content to let them whisper and scream for a few minutes before he told them what they were doing.

"Alright, everybody calm then?" he asked after the initial unease seemed to die down. "Right. Great. So, we've got quite the treat for you today. All nine of us get to explore the catacombs of Paris together."

John sounded excited, but most of the girls didn't look as enthused. In fact, they looked rather unimpressed, like they had expected more from him. John panicked.

"I know it doesn't sound super romantic, but there's a ton of history down here. It's more than a bunch of creepy bones - it's a burial ground, for millions of people. It's not just about being scary." At least, he didn't think it was. "Before you freak out, give it a chance?"

X

"Not my first choice for a date, I must admit," Sarah laughed. "But John seems excited, and it _is_ an historical location. I can give it a try."

X

"This is not the romantic date I was imagining," Anna squeaked. "I really hope dinner is a little less... gothic."

X

"I am so not excited for walking around in creepy underground bone tunnels," Ellen grumbled, obviously freaked out. "But I suppose I should be grateful for the time with John. Some girls won't get any."

X

Tara had been swinging her rose around all morning. Anyone who would listen had heard about her wonderful - _romantic_ - _**Eiffel Tower**_ date. It was impossible to avoid, and impossible to listen to. Lucy wasn't able to take the pressure, and had balled herself up in her room, upset and trying to control it. Emily was meditating in the corner; she said it helped her not kill people.

Jennifer, Andrea, and Laura had taken up the couch, and Sherlock had taken his normal chair, trying to watch telly instead of listening to her awful crap.

It wasn't working.

"It was just so amazing. Can you imagine getting the Eiffel Tower all to yourselves? It was wonderful." She sighed dramatically, sniffing her rose in fake reminiscence. She was obviously just flaunting it.

"Got it, Tara, you had a fabulous date," Laura groaned from the couch. "We've heard about it three times already, you can shut up."

"Wow, someone's jealous," Tara snapped back. "Everyone else gets to talk about theirs, but I can't talk about mine?"

"The rest of us know when to shut up before it gets annoying," Jennifer shot back. "You, obviously, don't."

Tara paused, then, twirling her rose, and pretended to look startled. "O-M-G. You're just...jealous." She laughed cruelly and stood up to leave. "Even Faggot knows I'm winning, bitches."

Alright, opportunity presents itself. Time to hit where it hurts.

"At least we're not fat, though," Sherlock retorted. If she was going to play dirty, he was too. And honestly, he was furious, bored, and her self-esteem sucked. "John's probably never felt so sorry for someone for being in the wrong career." A brief moment to watch her face contort and add drama. "You did say you do _plus_-sized modeling, right? With legs like yours I'm sure you have to."

And there it was! A face crumpled somewhere between fury and tears. Sherlock relished watching that last piece of decorum break, right in front of him. The audience on the couch had suddenly gone quiet, and Tara was stalking towards him instead of away.

Mmmm, delicious conflict. Maybe he could get rid of some of his anger now.

"You didn't dare, you cock-sucking scumbag," she growled. "Don't you dare tell me that I'm not better than your perverted, twisted, little dick."

"Your penis envy isn't amusing either." Sherlock vaguely wished he had brought his book with him. It was so much easier to look disinterested and dismissing when you had something else to focus on. "Really, why don't you just fuck off and leave the rest of us to enjoy the day?"

"Fuck off yourself." She was regaining a smidgen of composure. But only a smidgen. "I have a rose. That's a hell of a lot better than a fag like you."

"Say what you want, you can have your pity rose," Sherlock snapped back. Keep your doubts inside, focus on attack. At least you can go out after having done some nasty psychological damage. "I don't think the fact that you act like an extremely debased whore is going to bother the rest of us."

"I hope you fucking got raped in college," Tara growled, beginning to stalk away, all composure gone again. Even Emily was staring at this point, meditation broken. "That's what you deserve, fag."

Andrea stood up to go after her, but Sherlock waved her to sit down. "Don't bother. Not worth the effort."

Pretty well everyone in the hotel heard that door slam.

"Sherlock, that was not okay," Andrea snarled, however she was obviously not angry with him. That was a new sensation. "I don't care what kind of insults you were throwing around, she cannot say things like that and get away with it."

"It was expected. I pushed her past her limits," Sherlock smirked, somewhat satisfied. "It's somewhat nice to know that she is that angry with me."

"Just be glad she deserved those comments," Andrea grumbled at him. She shook her head as she sat down. "Normally we'd be jumping on you for being cruel."

"Sometimes, I don't get you," Jennifer said from the couch, shaking her head. "I know she's been a demon to you, but I think you pissed her off to the point of murder."

"I only wish," Sherlock sighed under his breath.

X

"I am going to kill that bastard if he gets a rose," Tara raged. She looked a little wild. "How fucking dare he? How fucking _dare_ he."

She paused and took a deep breath. Her eyes were on fire.

"He obviously doesn't know what this bitch is capable of."

X

"Wow, there really is a lot of history down here," Sarah murmured, her hand on John's arm. John had been spending alone time with each girl individually as they explored, just hanging back a little to talk to each. He had almost forgotten how much he enjoyed Sarah's company.

"That's why I wanted to share it with you," John whispered back. "It's so... amazing down here. Like another world."

"I loved it, John, I really did." Her eyes lit up when she smiled, and she leaned in and pecked him on the lips. His stomach did a somersault.

"Um, sorry to interrupt," Karen broke in. She and the rest of the girls had stopped. "But we've lost Anna."

"What?" John asked, startled. How did you lose someone on a group tour?

"Last place anyone saw her was about three monuments ago," Amelia added. Always prepared, that one. The monuments she was referring to were large bone sculptures, that most of the girls had found creepy. "Should we go back?"

"We're going to have to," John answered quickly, worried. He kind of wondered how she'd gotten separated. "We're going to have to split up, too. There are a lot of different routes down here."

"Doesn't that run the risk of more of us getting lost?" Stephanie protested. "I mean, it's not like we need more of that."

"We all meet back here in thirty minutes, then." Sarah pulled out her watch. "Everyone does have a watch, right?"

They all nodded.

It was too bad they couldn't count on the cameramen, John mused. It would be so much easier if they weren't essentially living furniture. He knew it was in their contract - no interaction or they get fired. That's what made them so easy to ignore. But it would've been helpful to have some extra hands.

X

"Poor girl was terrified in the first place," Karen fretted. "It's not fair that she got lost down here all alone. She's probably scared out of her wits."

X

"I just can't believe we don't have a rescue team we can call in," Stephanie griped. "We have a production team that can empty out big tourist sites for a day, but we have to look for her ourselves and on foot? Classy."

X

"I just want to go home," Ellen cried. "It's creepy down here, and I'm tired, and this whole thing has been a mess."

X

Tara hadn't bothered to come out of her room for the invitation drop off, and the host was noticing. Dave had come in, looked around, and instantly said, "I see we're one lady short this evening. Is she indisposed?"

"More like intolerable," Andrea muttered. "I don't think she's coming."

"Well, then, ladies and gent, we'll cut to the chase." He smiled and plopped the envelope on the coffee table, as usual. "It's a good one this, time!"

Lucy dove for it. No one else bothered to move. She read it silently then put it back down, dejected. The other girls watched as she covered her eyes and slipped off to her room. Emily picked the invitation back up.

"Sherlock," she read, "the keys to the vault are ours."

"What the hell does that mean?" Laura asked.

Sherlock was busy being surprised. Out of all the pretty women here, he had gotten a date in the most romantic city in the world? The date coveted by everyone but him? Lucy was in her bedroom bawling, for crying out loud, and probably wouldn't leave until the rose ceremony. But he got to waltz through Paris with John?

It didn't make sense, but he was ecstatic. The chances of him not getting a rose on a date were minuscule from what he understood. That meant one more chance to beat Tara. All he needed was one more fucking chance.

"Congrats, Sherlock," Jennifer cheered, patting him on the back. He liked Jennifer well enough, but he still cringed slightly at the physical contact. Why were these girls so... feely? "You better fucking enjoy this for all of us."

"Yeah, really," Laura put in. "You've got the last date in Paris - make the most of it."

The girls had all crowded around him to celebrate.

"Just lock your door when you go to bed," Andrea cried. "Tara's will want to stab you in your sleep."

Sherlock couldn't be happier with that fact.

X

"I fucking hate him," Lucy bawled. "I know it's not his fault, I know it's not. But I can't hate John and it's just so easy to hate him. I just want to die, right now."

X

John and Ellen were the group that found her. Everyone had branched off in groups of two as they had come to forks in the tunnel. But it was John and Ellen that finally stumbled across her, curled in a corner, shaking a bit. John immediately ran up to her.

"You're alright, Anna?" he asked softly. She seemed frightened, but okay.

"Yeah," she smiled weakly. "I guess I am now."

X

"That was terrible," Anna cried. "I mean, absolutely awful. One minute I'm reading a plaque while everyone else looks around, next minute I'm alone and disoriented and in a crypt." Her eyes were swollen and red, and she was still shaking slightly. "Just because it's the perfect place to die, doesn't mean I want to be stuck there. I didn't know what to do or where to go, or anything. So I sat down and waited for them to notice me."

X

Everyone made sure to pay special attention to Anna during dinner. She sat between Karen and Sarah, who were both actively engaged in making sure she felt welcome. No one was particularly willing to look like they weren't worried about her, though some were doing worse jobs at pretending. Ellen could barely keep smile on her face, and she didn't even seem too happy about the five-star restaurant. Adele kept asking her if she was feeling okay.

"You're sure you're alright, then?" Adele asked again, looking for a different answer. She was rapidly getting frustrated with the half-response.

"Yeah, fine," Ellen mumbled, still not looking fine. Her curls were going limp, and she had a very forced smile-frown on her face. She shuffled sideways, into the corner, when John stood up.

"Alright, ladies," he announced, holding the rose in his hand. He had picked it up after they had sat down. "I think it's clear who should get this rose."

John smiled softly and offered the rose to Anna.

"Anna, will you accept this rose?"

"Of course I will." There were tears in her eyes, but she had the biggest smile he had ever seen on her face.

X

"Well, fuck me," Ellen muttered. "I guess inconveniencing all of us is grounds for a rose. Can I go home now?"

X

"It's great for Anna," Sarah beamed at the camera, "and I don't really think any of us have to worry. It makes up for sitting shivering in an ossuary for half an hour, I hope."

X

"Well, I suppose that was just as fair as any other way." Stephanie looked only a little put out. "She'll probably feel better now too."

X

"John is so perfect," Anna sighed, misty-eyed. "It's like having a knight there to take care of me. I think I could stay with him forever."

X

Sherlock spent the next morning getting ready. He wasn't sure where he was going, or when he could leave, but he was sure he didn't need farm clothes this time. And that he didn't have to mingle today. Alone time was precious, in this environment.

By the time he was taken away, though, it was evening. And he was driven straight to a fancy restaurant, with John waiting at the door to greet him.

"We're starting with dinner?" Sherlock questioned immediately. "That seems odd."

"Ah, well, the rest of the date isn't ready yet." John smiled, motioning for him to come and sit down. "We're going to eat and take a walk through the city first."

"Alright. As long as we're not going to some sort of night club," Sherlock shuddered at the thought, as he took his chair.

"Never," John laughed. "I don't think anyone would appreciate trying to dance and grind around my crippled self. I'd trip someone with my cane."

They were both smiling. Sherlock hadn't figured John for the night club type, anyway. Which was great, because there was nothing less appealing than deafening music and the sweat and heat of hundreds of strangers. He would probably have had to pass.

"It's good we're not going then," he responded. Their food was served right then, without them even having to order. The nice thing about empty restaurants was that meals both came quickly and were usually pre-prepared. Both Sherlock and John could appreciate that.

Dinner was quick. They ate mostly quietly, and when they finished up they headed outside. By that time, it was dark.

"Lovely night for a walk," John said, happily striding along, despite the limp. He seemed to be enjoying himself.

"Indeed," Sherlock returned. He was still curious as to where they were going, but also didn't feel like spoiling his surprise. John would be disappointed, and he didn't want to disappoint John just yet. It was his turn to keep up small talk. "So, are you returning to London after this?"

"Yeah, I think so." John's smile wavered a bit. He obviously wasn't entirely comfortable with this subject. "I'm not sure what I'll do when I get there, though. I can't afford a flat on an army pension."

"No family nearby, then?" Sherlock observed calmly. He doubted that was true, however. It was rare to find an Englishman without some family in London, and John had obviously lived there before his stint in the army, which meant that he had lived there most likely with family. It was all about leading questions.

"No, my sister lives there, but I won't stay with her." John didn't elaborate - avoiding the subject. Some sort of family problem, possibly substance abuse, since he seemed just a touch embarrassed as well. "Besides, I'd want to be at least somewhat independent."

"Especially if you come home with a fiancée." Sherlock duly noted as they steered off the pretty-yet-repetitive streets of Paris, and into a lush park. John paused for a second and blushed, as if he'd forgotten about this whole shenanigan. Oh, interesting.

"Well, hopefully. There are some kids back in my corps that will be disappointed if I don't." John took some time to examine the flowerbed very closely. "Lovely flowers here."

"I would hope so. Paris spends tons of money to look this pretty." Sherlock allowed the subject change for just a moment. "So I suppose it's my turn to make sure you aren't here under duress?"

"What?" John looked a bit startled. He shook his head violently in protest as they continued to walk. "No, no. I mean, it's not my kind of thing, really, and I probably wouldn't have done it if Geoff and Paul hadn't asked me too..."

"But you're happy with it now?" Sherlock somehow doubted happy was the right word. John was putting up a fuss, but he wasn't really doing what he wanted to or expected. What Sherlock expected was some kind of admission that yes, a bevy of willing women was indeed the best thing in the world and how could he not think so. But John seemed somehow reticent and somehow nervous about the whole thing. Doubting he could find any other man that would display this peculiar mix of emotions, Sherlock couldn't help but be fascinated with the slight enigma. If John wasn't so conflicted, he doubted he would be so…drawn to him, he guessed would be the most accurate phrase.

"Well, I guess, yeah. I mean, it's not bad." John was surprisingly cute when flustered. Sherlock wasn't really sure where that sentiment kept coming from, but it was certainly true. "I'm kind of neutral on the whole thing. I'm not sure if I can expect much, or if anything is going to last after the show, but I like you and the girls, and I'm willing to try."

John beamed up at him, and Sherlock couldn't help but smile back. As they rounded another corner, he could see that they were looming closer to the Louvre. There was a vague hope that they would walk by it, when John started to beeline straight for the museum.

"Oh, come on." John dragged Sherlock behind him in a hobbling lope. "We're going to be late."

X

"I cannot believe Sherlock got the last date in Paris," Tara hissed at the camera. She looked tired and angry. "I hope John finally realizes what a whiny bitch he really is, and throws his ass out. I really _really_ do."

X

Sarah was surprised at how tightly Anna was staying by her. The poor thing hadn't gone further than a foot or two away from her - or, alternatively, Karen. It was like whoever had comforted her was now her friend. She also seemed to be fitting in better than she had before, slightly less shy.

Still fairly shy, though. She was blushing and stuttering as Emily tried to ask her a question - something about the nature of love.

"Well, ah, I do think it has to be perfect," Anna stumbled. "If it's not perfect or at least really good, it's probably not going to last."

"Bad experiences?"

"A few. And, just... hope, I guess." Anna was blushing furiously at this point. Ellen made a disgusted noise, and stood up.

"Well, I think it's all trash. You either get along with someone or you don't. None of this 'perfect _loooove_' mush." She grumbled and started to stalk away. She'd been in a terrible mood all day, and for most of the day yesterday, and no one could figure out why.

Sarah sighed. It was chaotic and difficult to spend this much time with other people. Why did they have to be together all the time? She kind of just wished for a calm walk outside, and some fresh air for a while. The date yesterday had been great, if unusual, and she just wanted to bask in that happiness for a while.

She wasn't going to get to, though, so it was best to make the most of things as they were. She sighed and stood up.

"Do you think there are any games we could play?" She asked the room.

Like magic, a deck of cards was produced.

X

"I thought this date would be perfect for Sherlock," John said to the camera, practicing his suave smile, and not entirely succeeding. "If any one seemed the type to enjoy art and classical music, it's him. I just hope I'm right."

X

They reached the Louvre just as the museum finished closing up. The attendants waved them in, and one directed them down the stairs, to some seats set in front of a make-shift stage, complete with red velvet curtain. Sherlock was a bit shell-shocked. The museum was empty, but the lights were still on and a few workers were just coming in, instead of leaving for the night.

This couldn't all be for him. It couldn't be. There had to be a catch.

"You like classical music?" John asked, politely tucking his cane under his chair. Sherlock grinned at him.

"Adore it. Though I admit to not knowing many French composers who wrote string quartets." He gestured to the mingling musicians with his head. John wasn't sure how he hadn't noticed them. "You?"

"I picked up a fondness for it when I was younger." John laughed and mimed playing a trumpet. "I used to play this old secondhand trumpet, and I was awful at it."

"I'm sure it wasn't that bad." Sherlock decided that now was not the time to mention his antique Stradivarius. "Nothing could be worse than when I started playing violin."

"I've heard that everyone screeches at first," John laughed. "It's apparently impossible to avoid."

"I was very determined not to screech," Sherlock reminisced, once again letting go of more information than he had planned to. John really should do undercover work. Definitely wasn't scheming enough for the job, though. "And I only did once. That doesn't mean I was in tune, though."

Sherlock winced slightly at the memory. His perfect pitch had made him want to throw the instrument out the window, but mummy (he groaned inwardly) had insisted that he play and practice every day. If he hadn't mastered it, it would have killed his hearing.

"I can see that," John laughed. "At least you tried not to sound awful. I don't think I even tried."

Suddenly there was a gentle cough. The curtains drew back to reveal a lady standing at the forefront of the "stage" holding a violin.

"Gentlemen," she spoke with a very light French accent. "We have a beautiful selection of string quartet music for you, this evening. Programs are available, if you wish."

She paused, waiting for a response.

"I think we'll be fine," Sherlock answered quickly. He didn't want to fuss with programs for just two people. The woman smiled and continued.

"Very well. I am Suzanne, and my three companions are Stephan, François, and Maurice. Together we are _Quatre Vivant_. If you are ready, we shall begin." She took her seat, while John and Sherlock assured her they were ready.

And then they started to play. Gorgeous, perfectly pitched music floated through the empty cavern of an entrance room. Sherlock immediately relaxed and closed his eyes, fingers keeping time on his knee with familiar sections and solos, obviously lost in the music. John wasn't sure if he should be watching the musicians or Sherlock, but both were fascinating.

As the music rose and fell, so did Sherlock's hands and the energy in him. The trill of the violins was dizzying; the low thrums of the adagios were core-shaking. John wasn't sure he'd ever heard music so beautiful.

The quartet played for about an hour - Mozart, Hayden, Schubert, and Beethoven to finish, all with several movements, and no pause between songs. By the time the performers had stood to bow, he was sure they were exhausted. The two of them gave them the smallest standing ovation ever, with echoing claps from the attendants on duty.

"That was gorgeous," John whispered, still half-mesmerized. "I didn't think it would be quite this good."

"It certainly was a good performance," Sherlock agreed, nodding once more at the musicians. "Funny how they didn't play a single French item, however. Not that I'm complaining."

"You liked it?" John asked, genuinely curious. He didn't want to drag Sherlock further if he wasn't having a good time.

"Of course." Sherlock had loved it. It was beautiful. He should probably say something more. "It was absolutely incredible." He smiled and John looked relieved.

"Good. Good, I'm glad." He smiled back. "Are you ready to look at paintings, then?"

"We get to look around?" Somehow this evening couldn't get much better. "Do we have free range?"

"Of course. They've agreed to let us run around all we want." John looked extremely happy. And, honestly, so was Sherlock.

"Let's run, then!" He grabbed John's hand and started running towards the nearest exhibit. He could only hope that the next few hours were enough to see everything.

X

They had ended up playing various card games, including poker with bits of paper as fake betting chips. Tara and Ellen had refused to join in, Tara because she wasn't getting out of bed, and Ellen because she was going to take a bath and a nap. Sarah had managed to coax Lucy out of her bedroom, though, for the first time all day. She had started the games red-eyed and a little sad looking, but had picked up as they continued to play.

"I might win this round too!" Lucy taunted, having won the last three hands of old maid. It made Sarah happy to see her come around so easily. Lucy was good to talk to, even if she was a little weepy about romance.

"If you do, we're going to have to see if you're cheating," Amelia grumbled. She hadn't won yet, though she wasn't too upset. She hadn't stopped smiling the entire time, and she was surprisingly aggressive with her "bets." "It's about time to change games anyway."

It was nice to be drama free for a little while. And she didn't know if she could keep it up, but she thought maybe she could try. John would probably want them to get along, anyway.

And she certainly wanted to get along with John.

X

"I can't believe I didn't win a single game," Amelia moaned. "I'll have to try harder next time. Or maybe just mar the deck."

X

John hadn't really expected Sherlock to be an art enthusiast, but he supposed he wasn't surprised that he was. After all, art crimes were huge, and Sherlock obviously adored both crime and history. It was like touring the Louvre with a very energetic, enthusiastic art textbook.

And every time they came across a painting Sherlock particularly loved – Delacroix's _Barque of Dante_, Ingres' _Grand Odalisque_, Caravaggio's _Death of the Virgin_ - he got a history of the painting, and the scandal surrounding it and everything he could ever want to know about the work. Sherlock was still talking about the Caravaggio as they wandered through the aisles of beautiful statues.

"Something that can stir such controversy and rage in the general public, over such a normal occurrence being portrayed as such," Sherlock listed, taking his time to inspect the beautiful curves of _Venus de Milo_, "is just amazing. Art has so much power, and most of the time we don't even realize that we give that to it."

"I didn't realize that so many of these had histories like that," John replied, honest with his answer. It had been fascinating to listen to Sherlock, to learn so much from one man who apparently had endless amounts of intelligence at his disposal. "You must have a ton of facts memorized."

Sherlock scowled briefly. "I do worry that my hard drive is too cluttered. I try to delete anything that isn't relevant or interesting, but I must admit to finding art incredibly interesting."

"You delete things?" John raised an eyebrow at that thought. "That sounds a little preposterous."

"I do my best not to remember the name, birthdate, and dating history of my uncle's third niece on his wife's side, or useless things like how many planets are in our solar system." He walked swiftly to the next statue before pausing in reverence.

"You don't know the solar system?" But he could recite detailed histories of every interesting item in the Louvre. John was a bit incredulous.

"It's not relevant whether the earth is a star or orbits around one, or there are four thousand asteroids nearby. None of these affect me or my work." Sherlock glanced around and saw a statue at the end of the hall. "Ah, they have _Death of a Slave_!"

John found himself rushing after Sherlock, a bit slower than the detective. He was surprised at how easily he had managed to keep up all evening. Dashing from statue to painting to statue, and chewing on all the information Sherlock had given to him - which was a lot, including the things about Sherlock, himself - had kept him rather preoccupied. John felt more alive than he had in months. Maybe since he had been shot.

It had been fantastic.

When he finally careened to the end of the hall, Sherlock was talking with an older gentleman, holding a broom.

"So it's been restored then?" he asked, excitedly, obviously engaged with the conversation.

"Of course, Mr. Holmes," the man replied. "We put it right as soon as you tracked down the thief."

"Fantastic! I'd love to show John." He turned to the doctor very suddenly. "A few months ago the French government hired me to recover Bosch's _Ship of Fools_ for the gallery after it was stolen. Bernard, here, was a great help to me."

"Just doing my job, sir," Bernard tipped his head gently and smiled widely. "And I should get back to it. I was supposed to avoid you two, but I couldn't help but say hello."

"It was a pleasure to see you again," Sherlock replied. "Could I ask one favour, though?"

"Name it." Sherlock bent and whispered something. Bernard looked pleasantly surprised. "Of course, Mr. Holmes. I'll do it right away."

Before admittedly befuddled John could ask, Sherlock grabbed his hand again, and started running up the stairs. John was starting to get adjusted to being both winded and confused. And he liked it, which he thought should bother him more.

They ended up taking a very roundabout way to the Bosch painting, and when they finally did get there, they both were incredibly winded. And smiling.

"So this is the famous painting?" John asked laughingly, looking a painting about twice the size of a sheet of paper, roughly painted in a medieval style, on a wood panel. It was labeled as part of a Triptych, the other pieces of which were elsewhere. "Seems a little small."

"Makes it perfect for stealing," Sherlock responded. "Especially since it's not incredibly famous. What would you do with the _Mona Lisa_ after stealing it? You'd be arrested as soon as you tried to get rid of it."

"I suppose you're right." That hadn't really occurred to him. But it was definitely true. It's not like you could get it appraised for sale.

Sherlock walked a bit to the side and came back with something John had both not seen when they came in, and not missed while they had been running around. His cane.

Somehow, rushing around a museum like a madman, he had forgotten that he was supposed to be limping. He was too excited and felt too great to be a cripple - so he wasn't. Sherlock had managed to conquer something a licensed therapist had told him might take years to heal.

"I had Bernard bring it up for us," Sherlock murmured, offering the cane to John. "I didn't want you to forget it. What would you do when your limp came back?"

John didn't think twice. He just leaned in and kissed him, resting his lips against Sherlock's. By the time he realized what he had done, it was over and they were both blushing. And suddenly, there was awkwardness for the first time all evening.

"Ah, thank you," John said, trying to pick up where they had left off before kissing had happened.

"You're welcome." Sherlock was confused. Confused and yet happy. He had liked that. And he didn't know why.

"Well, I think it's my turn to give you something," John muttered, blushing even harder as he pulled a lapel rose from his pocket. "This was amazing, Sherlock. I didn't think a gallery visit would be so enjoyable."

"Then you obviously haven't visited the right galleries." And right there, it was back. The awkwardness was gone, and they both seemed to be back to where they should be. John could feel the relief from both of them. He knew he was grinning.

"Sherlock, will you accept this rose?" He asked softly.

"Of course." And that, was that.

X

By the time they got back, it was four in the morning. Sherlock had high hopes of slipping through the common room without notice and just sleeping until noon. At least noon. He left the lights off as he silently opened the door and closed it behind him. Silent steps, around the table, to the left of the chair, and - directly on the remote.

"Shit," he hissed, scrambling to turn it off. Too late. A light snapped on beside the couch, and Lucy put her head up. Lucy, Amelia, Laura, and Emily lay in various locations all over the floor, empty glasses and what looked like nail polish scattered on the hardwood. A sleepover. Delightful.

"Sherlock!" Laura groggily exclaimed. "You just get back now?"

"Yes, and I'd rather like to get to sleep." Though there was no way that was going to happen. A few other girls had stumbled out from the bedrooms, including Tara.

"Where were you?" Lucy was grilling him for details. "Was it nice?"

"I'm sure cock-sucking was great," Tara snapped, already in a bad mood. "No other reason to be out so fucking late."

Oh. Oh, not in the mood for this bullshit. Sherlock had - for once - enjoyed one of these miserable activities. There had been some level of culture, and enjoyable company, and a chance to stretch his legs without having to watch every motion or comment. He was not letting Tara ruin it.

"I was at the _Louvre_, if you must know. Enjoying classical music, and free range of the museum without tourists to fuck it up." A couple of the other girls made "ooo" sounds. Lucy looked incredibly jealous.

"So you sucked his cock in a museum. It's still cock-sucking, you faggot." Tara was starting to look more awake, and incredibly angry. Stewing over the fact that he was now on equal footing with her? Definitely.

"Is this still penis envy? Or are you just angry that my 'faggot' self and you both got a date?" Sherlock growled, angry himself. There had been enough of this. "At least I was fully dressed on mine. We did all see your dress."

"You fucking asswipe." The other girls moved back as Tara stalked up to him. Lucy had started crying, and Emily had started moving her towards the door. "You're not right, you don't belong here. If I had a choice, I'd tie your balls to a pickup and drag you behind it, you fucking whore."

"If you had the bravery to do that, you would have done it already." Sherlock stood straighter to throw his insults. "Coward."

She had reeled back and hit him before he even registered that she was coming at him. Either she had gotten faster, or his reflexes were duller at four in the morning. Sherlock made note to work on that.

And he made note of the blood running down his temple, and the pain in his head, and the bruise forming on his cheek. And the fact that he was on the floor.

Great. Looked like she had got him at just the right angle to create a black out. Just a few seconds, but enough to get some damage in. And now she was hitting him while he was down. Classy.

She was bent over him, flailing, hitting him in the face, chest, anything that was in reach. That didn't so much hurt. The knee that connected sharply with his ribs did.

"I fucking hate you, you fucking faggot-whore," she screamed, scrambling for something to claw at. Laura and Jennifer were running to help, and Lucy had already made it out the door.

X

John was almost ready for bed. Almost. But there was screaming down the hall, and pounding on the door, and somehow he didn't feel too great about pulling on his robe and answering it. But he did anyway. He was polite like that.

Emily stood in front of him, with Lucy sobbing on her shoulder.

"Sherlock and Tara are fighting," Emily rushed to explain, pulling him along with her, while still keeping Lucy on her shoulder. "It's never been this bad before, do you think you can break it up?"

"Fighting? Why?" John really didn't have the brain power to deal with this. For fuck's sake, does no one sleep in this place?

"They've never gotten along," Emily mumbled. "She made a few nasty comments, and kind of lost it when Sherlock said something back."

Lucy sobbed really loudly right then, so John put a comforting hand on her shoulder. At least, he hoped it was comforting. She just kept shaking.

"Right, then. Let me at them." He got through the door to see Sherlock bruised on the floor, with Sarah hovering over him, and Tara being held back by Jennifer and Laura and Andrea, clawing wildly to get free.

"You fucking faggot," she was screaming. "I fucking hate you!"

"ALRIGHT," John yelled in his best military voice. "I think it's time we calm down!"

Everyone froze. Even Sherlock. Even Tara, though she still looked enraged. She certainly didn't look apologetic.

"I don't even want to know what's going on here," John said, absolutely truthful and horribly disappointed. He knew he would have to find out, but for now, he just wanted some peace. "Tara, get to bed."

Tara shook herself free and stomped out of the room with a flourish. The other girls sighed and shook out tired arms. Sarah helped Sherlock to his feet.

"I'm fine," Sherlock grumbled, keeping his arms out of reach. "Tired, and angry, and fine."

"You're sure? She was hitting pretty hard." Sarah had checked him briefly for breaks and now had two fingers against his bleeding temple, feeling around for serious injury. Sherlock's side hurt, but worse was his injured pride.

John had scrambled over, but let Sarah finish her check up. "You alright?"

"Yes, just slow reflexes." Sherlock shrugged, embarrassed. "And a bad angle. I should be better able to defend myself than that."

"But he was gentlemanly enough not hit back," Sarah added. "Even though he probably could have taken her down, easily."

"I don't have to stoop to her level," Sherlock grumbled. He rubbed his head. "Any major damage?"

"No, just some scratches, bruising, and a bit of a bump. You don't seem to have a concussion either," Sarah assessed. "I'd say you're fine.

"If no one minds, then, I'd like to go to bed." He stopped mid-turn. "Ah, thank you both, though. I appreciate the concern."

He did look like he appreciated it, John thought as Sherlock slipped out the door and into his room. John figured that he was at least as tired as he was. It had been a long night, and he needed to know what had happened. Despite not wanting to care right then. What he had just heard was not alright.

Fortunately, Sarah was a great unbiased source. So he asked. "What just happened?"

Sarah smiled weakly. "Well, this is about three weeks worth of hatred in one fight. They haven't got along since the beginning."

"Has it always been like this?" John asked, rubbing at his eyes. He wanted to go to sleep.

"Yes. Tara starts it, Sherlock retaliates, they have a fight. This one was just bigger than usual." She held John's eyes. "It's been really stressful for some of the girls."

Well, fuck. Yet another thing to deal with in the morning. Here he was, hoping to go to bed and wonder about how great it was to walk without a cane again, and now he had to break up catfights. Perfect.

"Did you see everything that happened?" John sighed.

"No, I came in at the end. But I can ask the other girls in the morning, if you need me to?"

John silently thanked the heavens for Sarah. She had just made this process so much easier.

"I'd really like that. I need to know what's going on." He gave her a hug, and a kiss on the cheek in gratitude. "Now, I think we both need to go to sleep."

X

"I just wanted it to stop," Lucy wailed. "Why do we have to fight like that? She didn't have to hit him, she didn't have to say any of that. None of the rest of us scream insults at each other."

She wiped roughly at her eyes. "I'm just is glad Emily was there. She's so calm."

X

"Well, that was ridiculous," Emily muttered. "Maybe I should run a meditation class in the mornings? We could obviously use a little more control and a little more Zen in here."

X

"Well, I hope John listens to my side," Tara sighed, dramatically. "It looks a lot worse than it was. I was completely provoked, beyond expectations."

She wiped an imaginary tear.

"He can't expect us to be perfect, all the time, can he?"

X

"Faggot-whore," Sherlock mused, looking haggard. "I not only collect wood but I also sell my body for money? Perhaps collecting sticks wasn't enough, so I had to supplement my income?"

He shot a look at the camera.

"Can I go to bed now?"

X

Sherlock had lain in bed most of the day the next day. By the time he'd managed to roll out and get dressed, it was almost time for the cocktail party. He and the other women shuffled down to the ballroom, to mingle.

Unsurprisingly, Tara didn't bother joining in the chatter. She had taken a drink and nursed it off at the side of the room. No one seemed to mind, though no one said anything about the incident. It was just swept under the rug, until John dealt with it.

John started his evening of conversation with Sherlock.

"You're alright?" was the very first question out of his mouth, even before they had sat down.

"Of course I am," Sherlock grumped. "She's stick thin - you really think she has enough strength to do damage?"

John looked a bit sheepish. "Well, no, but she did leave quite the bruise."

"Yes, well." Sherlock sighed. It wasn't as bad as he'd thought, but the purplish mark on his cheek was a mark of shame for him. He should have been faster. "She was pretty furious with me plus sadly, she happens to wear several rings_._ I'm surprised she didn't do worse."

"I'm glad she didn't." John was concerned. Why did he always have to be so kind about things?

"Thank you," Sherlock murmured. He didn't know what else to say. And then John was holding his hand and he had that confused mixed feeling again. Why didn't he hate this? Why didn't he take his hand away? Or smoothly try to get out of any and all physical contact like he did every other time? These questions made his overtired brain groan under the workload, and he resolved to answer them later or never - whatever suited him best.

"You don't have to thank me for being worried," John chuckled and squeezed his hand tighter. He couldn't imagine anything more ridiculous. You were supposed to worry about people you liked, right?

And that right there, was a kettle of fish he needed to open.

"Nonetheless, thank you." Sherlock may have been blushing. Or it could have been the bruise. Both were quite possible.

"You're welcome." John had bigger things to talk about. He needed to stop stalling. "Ah, um, sorry if I've been... pressuring you. I think I might have been too forward last night."

"What?" Sherlock's face twisted painfully and he winced. "You mean the kiss?"

"Ah, yes." And now they were avoiding each other's gaze. Good job being awkward, John. "I know you're married to your work, and, um, if I'm getting in the way..."

"It's fine, John," Sherlock cut him off. "I know you have to. You don't have to apologize."

Why did these conversations always feel like a tennis game of misunderstanding? Oh, ball's in John's court! His turn to be confused. Where did they keep missing the mark?

"It wasn't for the production," John mumbled. "It felt right. I'm not sure where that fits for either of us and I don't want to overstep any boundaries." While he said it John looked down and noticed their hands still together. The other man's fingers were long, thin, and seemingly fragile in his hand, John was almost afraid he'd squeeze too tight and it would crush into porcelain dust. With that thought, he knew he was at the boundaries of a few things, that he may not be ready to deal with. But right now he wasn't sure if he cared, he was doing what felt right.

Sherlock meanwhile was cursing his fair skin. Even with bruising, he was pretty sure he had just gone beet red. "You're not."

"Good." John relaxed a bit in his seat before standing up. He really didn't want to have to worry about this. Especially since Sherlock's date had been one of the most exhilarating dates he'd had so far.

"But thank you for thinking about it." Sherlock stood awkwardly, and John planted a kiss on his cheek, very quickly.

"You're welcome."

X

"I'm really glad I got to talk to you tonight," Tara sighed. "I think I need to explain myself after last night."

"I certainly think you do," John replied. He was trying to be open minded, he really was. But his tolerance for hate speech was very, very low. He had watched Harry go through college. And got into it with more than one kid for lesser insults than the ones Tara had been using.

"He's said some really mean things, lately," Tara fumbled. "And I mean, really, just not alright."

John watched a tear drip down her cheek. He didn't move closer.

"What kind of things?" he asked.

"He called me fat, and a whore, and a coward, and..." She flinched at her own pause, staring at her feet. "Last night, I just broke. I don't understand what you see in him."

John hated that he could see where that cruelty came from. He had heard Sherlock's sarcastic and demeaning side first hand. It wasn't exactly hidden. But it also wasn't unnecessarily cruel. Demeaning, yes. Oh definitely, yes. But somehow that wasn't the same as unprovoked cruelty. Maybe it was too early for him to know, but as of yet he had never seen Sherlock be nasty without a reason.

Even if that reason was incredibly high standards for people to live up to. He wasn't quite sure who _wasn't_ stupid compared to Sherlock.

That still wasn't unfounded cruelty.

"I understand," John said quietly. He had his doubts. "But I still don't think that level of…hatred is acceptable."

"I'm sorry," Tara whispered. "I'll try to control myself next time."

X

"She actually made a quip about him sucking your cock, if what I hear from the other girls is correct," Sarah said. "She's done that a few times, whenever she gets a bit jealous, so I'm not too surprised."

"Has he been taunting her as well?" John asked, reserved. He didn't want to take one side or another.

"Oh, definitely. But usually in response to something much worse," she added. "Last night, he might have called her a coward, but she was throwing around death threats first."

"What?" John's head whipped up sharply. "She said what, exactly?"

"I believe she threatened to drag him behind a pickup truck." Sarah was wincing. "Honestly, it was pretty brutally disgusting, and disturbingly graphic. I'm honestly surprised she hasn't gotten violent before this."

"Wow." John wasn't sure how else to respond. "No one thought to mention this sooner?"

Sarah sighed heavily. "I think it's a case of everyone letting someone else do it. I would have mentioned it, but I didn't see most of it first hand."

"Well, thank you for telling me," John whispered softly. "I really can't thank you enough for being honest about it."

"Never a problem, John," Sarah responded, with a soft smile. "It's your future at stake. I would want you to know."

Rather than responding, he kissed her, as sweetly as he could.

X

Sherlock and the women shuffled into their lines, waiting for the rose ceremony to start. Dave and John were already there.

"Ladies and gentleman," Dave announced, looking calmer than most of the participants, "John is ready to make his choices. Sherlock, Tara, and Anna, you're safe for tonight." He gestured at the rose tray. "There are eleven roses here. That means two of you will be going home. Good luck to you all."

As he disappeared, John walked towards the group.

"Actually, we have one thing before I start calling names," John said calmly, before walking straight up to Tara. "I know what's going on now, and I have to say, you haven't been honest. I can't stand to hear that kind of hatred being flung around, especially unprovoked. And I know you know exactly what I am talking about."

He reached out, and plucked the rose from her hand.

By the time he had returned to his tray, the shock was starting to dissipate. There were wide-eyed stares, and a horrified gape from Tara. The gape only lasted a minute though, before she gathered up her skirt, and stalked out - no word to anyone.

"SCORE ONE FOR THE FAG," Sherlock yelled after her, arms thrown in the air. "Fuck off, you homophobic bitch!"

Tara flipped him off and kept walking. Or stomping. John really wasn't sure how she could walk so heavily and not break her high heels.

"Sherlock," John snapped, hand to his forehead, rubbing away the headache. "I'm letting that slide because you got the raw end of the deal. But please, _please_ control yourself."

Sherlock sheepishly shut up, and looked intently at the ground. Yet, somehow, he didn't look entirely ashamed.

"Let's get this started then, shall we?" John asked. After that, the rose ceremony was quick. Sarah, Amelia, Karen, Stacy, Emily, Laura, Cecelia, Jennifer, Andrea. Lucy. Adele.

And Stephanie.

Which left Ellen, going home. She didn't seem too upset about it.

X

"I'm not sure John and I work together," Ellen purred to the camera. "I mean, yes, it sucks to be going home, but I don't think I'm disappointed. I'll find someone."

X

"The fags will be happy together, I'm sure," Tara snarled. "John can go fuck himself with something nasty. Like Sherlock."

She stood up roughly and started to walk away.

"I hope they fucking die."

X

John sighed as he sat down heavily on the bed. That had been one fucking long week. One fucking long day. And now he got to sit on his bed, incredibly sleep deprived, and way too caught up in what was going on in his very tumultuous romantic life. Sarah was amazing. Just as expected. And trustworthy. She hadn't made any protests about letting him know what was going on. Some of the other girls would have thrown a fit, but she hadn't. He couldn't even express how much he appreciated that.

And the other girls were great. Amelia was feisty, which he hadn't expected, and Emily was level-headed, and Karen was honest and friendly. It was overwhelming how many nice women he was stuck with.

But then came Sherlock, and he wasn't sure what to do with him. He had been walking and running without a cane. Every time he thought about it, there was a surge of victory. He had won, for a short period of time. Sherlock had short-circuited the part of his brain that was keeping him a cripple, and there was nothing to compare to that. It felt so amazing.

And Sherlock was smart, and demeaning, and eccentric, and exciting. And John liked it far more than he wanted to admit. He really didn't consider himself gay. The fact that he had been okay with kissing Sherlock was very new, and kind of scary. But he had enjoyed it, and Sherlock didn't seem to mind, and he shouldn't right? They both knew this was a romance show. It's not like they both didn't know that the end goal was an intimate relationship.

Could he handle that? Could Sherlock? Was it ever going to get that far any way? He could just be fretting over nothing. And very likely was. But he wanted to be ready. He needed to know what he could and could not accept before this went further. And he needed someone to talk to that wasn't incredibly biased.

He wondered if he could write a letter. Harry, maybe. Or Paul and Geoff. Possibly all of them. Even if he didn't get a response, it would be nice to think this through in writing.

So he grabbed a piece of paper and a pen, and started setting it down.

He wondered if he would ever get to sleep.


	4. Episode 4

Episode Four

They had been in Madrid for all of twenty minutes when Steve - the producer - stopped by. John was surprised; he hadn't seen Steve since the show began. Usually all his instructions came straight through Dave.

"Just so you know, John," Steve said very seriously, "You cannot invite Sherlock on any dates this week."

"Why not?" John was maybe a little more forceful than he needed to be. But suggestions to ramp up drama were not appealing to him, and he didn't really want to put Sherlock - or any of the women - through that kind of emotional wringer. Especially not for ratings.

"Normally we wouldn't allow it, but we've got a request directly From New Scotland Yard," Steve grumbled. He did not look pleased. "He's required urgently, for a few days, apparently."

"So, he's leaving? For work?" John puzzled. From hat he could tell, Sherlock did have an important job. But he seemed to imply that he could do what he wanted with himself.

"Yes. I've had promises that he'll be back for the rose ceremony. In return, we have to not make a production of his leaving."

"Well," John said. He didn't go anywhere with it, though. "Alright, then."

X

My croft was sitting in a chair in his room, umbrella in hand, when Sherlock arrived. He gently put his suitcase to the side and plopped down on the bed.

"And what would you want?" He growled none too friendly.

"I need you to come to London." Ah, Mycroft. No asking, just a demand. Sitting there, unfazed, assuming that Sherlock would eventually give in. Because _Mycroft_ is _sooo_ _important_.

"No." He replied simply. Not a chance. Mycroft frowned.

"I've arranged for them to exclude you from the filming process for a week, and you can be back before the... rose ceremony, I believe they called it." Mycroft had gotten the production company involved? Of course he did. Sherlock knew what this was about.

"This is for the Burns case, isn't it?"

"Yes." Mycroft was being factual. And Sherlock was furious. There was no way he could not be.

"Then, I am absolutely not coming. I suggest you deal with those political intrigues yourself." Sherlock got up and started to unpack.

"But you were interested before -" Mycroft protested, still trying to remain composed.

"And you pulled strings to get me on this stupid show because I was meddling." Some clothes landed in a drawer, and the drawer slammed after them.

"And mummy thought it was a good idea."

Sherlock spun. "That's right, go suck up to mummy. I'm sure she'll love it. She always seems to. Either way, I intend to stay here."

"You weren't so inclined three weeks ago."

Sherlock had been so angry when this started. Mycroft had stuck his nose in to one too many aspects of his life, and getting rid of him for accidently stepping on his toes in this Burns case was a bit extreme. Normal people, he was sure, had fights or conversations when they got annoyed with their siblings. His shipped him off to be filmed.

And he knew why.

"You didn't expect me to be here this long," Sherlock snapped. "I was supposed to be gone in week two or three and be back just in time to help you wrap this idiotic case up. After having learned some kind of twisted lesson, I'm sure. Well, congratulations, you were wrong."

Mycroft stared at him, intently, like he was trying to figure out where his manipulations went wrong. Sherlock _hated_ that stare. Like he was just one of the many other half-witted pawns that Mycroft pushed around on a daily basis. He wasn't. He knew what game his brother was attempting to win at, and he refused to play. Instead, he went back to tossing clothes around. Unpacking. Whatever.

"You're enjoying this... experience that much?" Mycroft asked. Almost quietly. He had one eyebrow raised, as if the pawn he was examining had suddenly decided to glue itself to the chessboard instead of capturing the king.

"I believe it's called a vacation." Sherlock snapped. He didn't take vacations.

"You don't take vacations," Mycroft pointed out. Sherlock stopped, and looked his brother in the eye.

"Well, consider this my first." He was hoping an acidic tone - capable of melting human bones on contact - would put an end to this conversation. No, he wasn't that lucky.

"You'd pick this over international scandals?"

"It's a fucking contract about trading with Russia. Only you care if something happens to it."

Mycroft stood up, brushed his impeccable suit off, and strode towards the door. "I'll ask again tomorrow, Sherlock."

"Don't bother!" Sherlock called after him.

X

"Where's Sherlock?" Laura asked, as they all sat around the coffee table, waiting for the invitation. It was getting to be a routine.

"I have no idea," Jennifer answered. "He should be here by now."

"I apologize for my tardiness, then," Sherlock said, gracefully taking his standard chair. He was amused by the fact that the women now purposefully left a chair available for him, in the same place in every room. "I take it we're still waiting for the invitation?"

"Then your wait is over," Dave flourished as he made his way to the front of the group. Sherlock really did envy his dramatic flare. His customary drop of the envelope on the table preceded his speech. "The beauties of Madrid await you, ladies. Though some of you will still be disappointed."

Lucy had grabbed the envelope before anyone had moved. Again. There seemed to be a pattern, here.

"Amelia," she read, calmly this time, "Let's do our research on love."

Library date. Well, Sherlock supposed he could live without that anyway. There were other libraries, just as impressive. Besides, he was positive that Mycroft had ensured the fact that he wouldn't be on any of the Madrid dates. He may as well accept this fact immediately and with an overwhelming degree of bitterness.

X

"I'm trying not to be such a downer this time," Lucy sighed, at the camera. "It was hard last time, but he still gave me a rose. He's not going to drop me without giving me a chance. Maybe I'll get the one-on-one this time."

X

"I'm excited," Amelia proclaimed, smiling. "I've had fun on every date so far, and John is a great guy. I definitely want more time with him. As much time as I can get."

She blushed for a moment before continuing, "Besides, research is totally my thing."

X

Sherlock awoke the next day to his brother sitting in the same chair as the day before. How the hell does he do that? For a fat man, Mycroft seemed to be inordinately light on his feet.

"Fuck off," he snapped, before rolling back over, and pretending to sleep.

X

As soon as she got out of the car, Amelia ran straight up to John and wrapped him up in a hug. Being half-smothered by a short and energetic woman wasn't necessarily unpleasant, but it certainly was surprising. And before he could react much to the sentiment, she was standing back.

And grinning like the Cheshire cat.

"Excited?" John asked, amused. He had worked hard to match the right girls with the right dates. It was nice to see his listening skills were paying off. "The way you talk about work, I thought you might be."

"I can't believe you actually listened to that," Amelia laughed. "I babble about biology all the time, but I don't think I've had a date actually remember what I do, before."

"Biology research co-ordinator. Cambridge," John recited, happily. "I don't get a lot of time with each of you. The least I can do is remember what you said to me."

"That's a hell of a lot more than the average man." Amelia had grabbed his hand, and was pulling him toward the looming Romanesque library. John quietly went with her. "I'm absolutely thrilled."

"Good," John laughed. "Maybe you can show me around the biology section."

X

Sawing on his violin in protest, Sherlock had effectively enforced silence in the room. Beethoven. Very. Forceful. Beethoven. It was fabulous for drowning out annoying older brothers.

Unfortunately, Mycroft was being incredibly patient. And calm. Which probably meant that he really couldn't do this _particular _piece of deductive footwork on his own. Political reasons, most likely. It was always political reasons for Mycroft.

Sherlock didn't care. He was not going to give in to pressure. Mycroft had put him here. Therefore, Mycroft could deal with the fact that he was here. He didn't want to leave yet.

And he would think about that quasi uncomfortable fact later. This was supposed to be entertaining but not pleasant.

"Sherlock, be reasonable," Mycroft piped in during the pause between songs.

"If you had been reasonable to begin with, you wouldn't have to bargain with me," Sherlock retorted, pausing in his music. "And I refuse to do business with you."

"Would you reconsider if I told you it has a connection to that the Stranowski case from last year?"

Oh, Stranowski. Chasing smugglers had been somewhat interesting. But also somewhat typical. He mostly had just enjoyed outwitting their entire organization. And honestly, it wasn't so delightful that he wanted to repeat the experience.

Now if Mycroft could pull out a serial killer, Sherlock would be genuinely tempted.

"No. I am not reconsidering, Mycroft." He carefully placed his violin back in to its case and locked it up. "I am here, for better or for worse, and you will have to find some other gopher to deal with your treaty problems."

He stalked out the door and into the girls' living room.

X

They glided down a beautiful pair of marble staircases, towards a rich hardwood floor, desks and bookshelves filling the space below. The library was fabulous, and everything was going very well.

Though, John had spent a lot of the date feeling somewhat stupid. He liked books, he loved the library, especially the library aesthetic. After all, he's spent most of university in one. But his feeling paled in comparison to Amelia's adoration. She could go up to a book and flip through it, and give the impression that she was memorizing its every detail.

Fortunately for him, they had mostly been talking about Spanish culture, which they seemed to be on equal footing about.

"Do they still hold bullfights, here?" Amelia asked, quietly. They had so far managed to escape notice from the librarians, though John doubted that they had anything to worry about. "I know it's outlawed in some places, but not Madrid?"

"They definitely have bullfights." John cringed slightly at the memory of his conversation with the producers. "It was actually suggested that I take one of you to see the fighting."

"Are you going to?" She sounded alarmed.

"No, I told them that was a terrible idea. Most of the other dates are very tame."

Amelia giggled. "You only look tame. Dates with you are exciting."

John smiled at that. At the very least he was impressing one girl. He just hoped he could keep it up.

X

The living room was Sherlock's haven. Mycroft wouldn't step in front of a camera. His brother wouldn't dare risk that. Not for anything. Anonymity was Mycroft's greatest power.

There was an old console gaming system sitting on the coffee table when Sherlock arrived. Nintendo 64, catridge-based gaming system, a few scattered games with it - _Super Mario 64, NFL 2000,_ a basketball game, baseball, and _Mario Kart 64_. Interesting. It had obviously been treated roughly: the plastic was cracked on the corner of the console itself, and the two gray controllers were darkened on the hand grips - obviously no one had bothered to clean this unit. He suspected it had been left here by the previous hotel visitor.

"Found that in one of the drawers," Laura started, not taking her eyes off of her soap opera. "Someone must have left it here."

"Does it still work?" Sherlock asked. The cartridges didn't look oxidized, so it probably did. But it was always best to try something like this.

"Dunno," Laura responded, still not looking at him. "And don't bother trying. The telly is mine for at least another hour."

Right. Sherlock wasn't really in the mood for a fight for the remote. He had smuggled one book away with him, and he honestly just wanted to not have to look at his brother. Again. Ever. At least Laura's stupid program didn't infuriate him.

Besides, watching her scream when he spoiled it was always priceless.

X

"I was really nervous, waiting for dinner," Amelia confessed. "The closer it got, the more nervous I was. I think might have babbled a bit."

She blushed.

"John didn't seem to mind, but it's so embarrassing to lose composure like that. Even a little bit. I like him a lot. I don't want to leave a bad impression."

X

"I mean, I just enjoy Spanish culture so much," Amelia continued. John nodded, as he had for the last few minutes. Ever since dinner had started, Amelia had gotten chattier and chattier. Like she was trying to make something happen sooner by talking faster. "I've always wanted to come to Madrid, and it's just as beautiful as I expected. I couldn't have asked for more. Don't you agree?"

"Yeah, it's great," John piped in.

"And that library was just so huge and gorgeous and full of learning..."

"Miss," the waiter cut her off. "Would you like to order?"

"Oh, of course." Amelia was turning red, but she started to order. Immediately after their waiter left, John picked up the rose.

Amelia had gone silent.

"I really enjoyed our date today," he said quietly. It had been a good day. Not the best date, but a certainly good one. "It was great to have you there and to explore together."

She waited silently, and he thought maybe he saw a tear in her eye.

"Would you accept this rose?" He offered it to her. She reached over and kissed him on the cheek.

"Of course. Of course."

X

"I am so incredibly bored," Sherlock moaned at the confessional camera. "BORED. There is nothing to do, and there will be nothing to do, and I'm going to be stuck here all weekend. How do people like you deal with this level of monotony? What must it be like in your tiny brains?"

He glared at the camera, and then shook his head, disgusted.

"I'm so bored, that I've opted to talk to inanimate objects. I almost miss Tara. At least she was interesting."

X

"Sherlock," Jennifer said stopping beside his chair, "is everything okay? You've been acting odd today."

Damn it. He hated when people were perceptive. And he wasn't about to admit that he was avoiding his meddling brother and very annoyed that he was being treated like a commodity. And annoyed with himself for staying and not wanting to leave.

Jennifer ignored his silence. "I know we're all stressed out. It's kind of part of the deal." She patted him gently on the shoulder. "You'll be alright, okay? Perk up. He likes you."

Ew. Physical contact. His stomach turned even more so with the 'he likes you'. Really? Did he come off as one of these nervous, weepy, desperate twits? Reasonably he knew Jennifer didn't mean it that way, but the notion disgusted him nonetheless.

"Thank you," Sherlock replied, not sure why he was thanking her. Perk up? What kind of advice is that? "I'll be fine."

"Good, because the invitation for tomorrow is coming soon."

She was right of course. All the girls had gathered to their usual seats on the couch. Dave chose that moment to appear.

"Ladies, and gentleman," came the traditional announcement. "I've brought an invitation for you."

Quick tonight, Sherlock noticed. Very quick. Not a good sign for people avoiding their rooms.

Lucy had grabbed the invitation. As usual. "Jennifer, Sarah, Lucy, Stacy, Adele, Cecilia, Andrea, Laura," she called out. "Let's get rough!"

Physical contact sports. Wrestling, or rugby, or something along those lines. Well. At least he wasn't missing out on a date he might have liked. Unfortunately, he now had to live with three days of boredom, and possibly Mycroft. Maybe his fatter, elder brother had given up?

Sherlock knew better than that.

X

"I'm so excited," Lucy squealed. "It feels like it's been years since I've gotten to see him. I absolutely can't wait for this date."

X

"I'm a bit disappointed," Anna said softly. "I didn't have a great time on the last group date. I hope I get one that makes up for that soon. Though a one-on-one would be better."

X

Mycroft hadn't been there when Sherlock went to bed. Nor when he woke up. He wasn't quite sure what to make of that fact. His brother wasn't one to dawdle when he wanted something; usually, he'd be expecting some sort of threat or blackmail, or something to force him to comply.

Nothing like that appeared either.

Great. Now he got to spend the whole day just waiting for what his brother would do next. At least part of his brain would spend time obsessing over it, and he hated that fact. Not being able to control even the slightest portion of his thought process drove him mad. Loathing that useless, aimless speculation that was slated to constantly nag him throughout the morning and afternoon, while at the same time acknowledging there was nothing he could do about it.

Maybe that was Mycroft's aim?

No. No, too simple. Mycroft wasn't _ever_ simple.

Probably the best he could do for now was distract himself from the possibilities and stay in front of the cameras to avoid his brother's annoying presence. So he climbed out of bed, put some presentable clothes on, and went out to greet the ruckus in the living room.

X

"I'm really excited for today's date," John said, happily. "Not many people know this, but I used to play rugby in uni. I guess I just wanted to share that tidbit with some of the girls. It should be fun."

X

The girls looked mostly nervous as they shuffled out to the field. A few of them were whispering, from what John could see, but they were mostly quiet. Seeing eight girls in front of him for a "date" was still strange. He vaguely wondered how it felt to be on the other side of this equation. It couldn't be too bad, or none of them would have stayed. But there was no way that they felt great about being one in fourteen.

Nothing he could do about it though, except what he was doing. It was getting easier to accept the fact that this was how the next month and a half of his life would go. It had been a month, already, after all. He was almost halfway to the end of this mess.

He smiled across to Sarah, who waved at him.

It wasn't all a mess. There were some things he really liked.

"Alright," John started to address the girls. It always felt like he was giving a speech at the beginning of a group date. "It's a little known fact that I played rugby a bit when I was in university."

Lucy perked up. She looked incredibly happy.

"Don't get too excited," John laughed. "I wasn't much good, and I doubt I could play now."

He waved his cane around a bit. He had brought it with him, even though he was trying not to use it. Sherlock had proven he could beat this limp. Now all he had to do was keep proving it to himself. It was just a matter of willpower.

That didn't mean he was fine yet, though. It still hurt terribly some times, and he wasn't entirely ready to wander about without his crutch.

"We're going to split you into teams of four," John continued. "And you girls are going to play. Whichever team wins, gets extra time to spend with me, tonight." That prize was incredibly awkward. John didn't think it was much of a reward, but the way most of the women smiled, he guessed they thought it was alright. "Any of you know how to play?"

Lucy's hand shot up, followed by Andrea and Adele. Not many.

"Well, basically, you need to get the ball to the end of the field, and touch it to the grass. That will score you five points. After that, you get a kick, and if you get it through the goal posts, you get another two points. You can't throw the ball to another player if they're in front of you. Only to the side and backwards. But you can run with the ball." John sighed at the next bit. "We're playing without penalties. Behave yourselves, tackle your hearts out, but don't hurt each other."

He already knew this was a recipe for disaster. Hopefully they would manage to not seriously injure themselves.

"Alright, then, that's the basics." The producers had asked him to just give simple rules. "Lucy, Stacy, Sarah, Adele. You're one team. That leaves Jennifer, Andrea, Laura, and Cecelia on the other team. There are jerseys for you all on the bench behind you!"

The girls raced to grab their colours.

X

"You can_not_ be serious," Stephanie was screeching as Sherlock walked in. "I'm too slutty, am I?"

"That's not what I said," Emily retorted, not breaking from her meditation pose. "I said that you're probably going to get picked on for being less conservative than the other girls. No insult intended."

"Well, it sounded pretty insulting," Stephanie snapped, beginning to pace. "There's nothing wrong with how I dress."

"I didn't say there was."

"It's not my fault that the rest of you don't want to show off what you've got," she continued. "I mean. I look great. What's the point in hiding it?"

Emily didn't respond. Stephanie paced for a moment more, waiting for a response, then huffed and stomped out. Sherlock didn't have to ask. Karen got to it first.

"What the hell was that?"

It took a moment before Emily responded. Karen crouched down and patted her shoulder. "I guess I was trying to be honest with the wrong person."

"Hey, don't worry about it." Karen was pretty good at this consoling thing, Sherlock noted. Sympathetic. "Some people are just so fake that honesty gets their defenses up."

Emily laughed at that. She smiled a bit and relaxed into a more natural position, with a stretch. "I wish that wasn't so true."

"Oh, but it so is." Karen smiled too and stood back up. "Just don't let her get your hackles up."

Amelia's joyful cry broke in from beside the television. "I got it working!"

A second later, proclaimed exactly _what_ was working.

"WELCOME TO MAAAAAAARIO KART!" the telly blared.

"Who wants the first match?"

X

Lucy's team - and it was unquestionably _Lucy's_ team - was up by five points. Which wasn't too bad, despite the fact that the game was five-zero. Lucy had almost killed Cecilia for missing the goal kick. She had been the driving force behind the whole team.

Half time had just been called. Thankfully. The girls on both teams were exhausted. Adele had sprawled out beside Stacy, who was panting horribly. Sarah was a bit winded, but she knew better than to collapse after a hard work out. Her muscles need to stretch.

"How did you get into this?" she asked Lucy, offhandedly. Lucy was stretching beside her, looking tired, but driven.

"Ex-boyfriend was a fanatic," she laughed in response. "He used to drag me to the pub to watch when there was a game, and get into huge fights over his favourite team. It was kind of scary."

"Yeah, I'm sure it was."

The buzzer sounded.

"Alright, ladies!" Lucy screamed. "I want some extra time with John, and I think you do too. So, TACKLE 'EM!"

X

"Lucy's a bit intense," Stacy said. "It's just a bit much. Yeah, I want time with John and all, but she totally comes off as desperate."

She sighed dramatically.

"I don't know about you, but I wouldn't want to come off as desperate. Especially when I'm not entirely sure whether or not he's even to me."

X

Sherlock wasn't sure how he had ended up steering a horribly stereotyped Italian plumber around a terrible cartoon track, but he was determined to win at it now. Amelia was playing as Princess Peach, and she had won the last two tournaments. No one else wanted to play, and he certainly wasn't giving up the controller. This was the first bit of decent entertainment he'd had in the last week.

"Victory on Choco Mountain!" Amelia screamed. "One more track of you loooosing."

Sherlock didn't answer. Video games were all reflexes and hand-eye co-ordination. He excelled in both. He should have been winning by this point. And he was damn well going to. Hopefully, on... Mario Raceway, or whatever track this was.

Sharp right. Hit the multi-coloured boxes. Throw the red shell, and watch Donkey Kong spin out of control. All while steering smoothly.

"Can't catch me yet!" Amelia yelled, as one of Sherlock's green shells flew past her.

But second lap, around the last corner to the finish line, she hit a flower-thing and spun out. Toad was right behind him, but he managed to pass her, and he was damn well going to hold this position.

"Oh, no you fucking don't," Amelia growled at him. "I've got a blue shell."

"Shit," Sherlock hissed, and immediately let Toad pass him. No sense taking first just to get knocked out.

X

"I totally ruled this game when I was a teenager," Amelia crowed to the camera. "And I'm doing my best to rule again."

X

"I will get her." Sherlock looked agitated. "This should be so easy. So fucking _easy_."

He pondered for a moment.

"New goal: crush Amelia in Mario Kart."

X

Sarah tackled with all her might. Laura went down hard, and Lucy grabbed the ball. One mad dash, and a face first crash into the ground later, and they had scored.

"FUCK YEAH," Lucy screamed, as Adele shook her head in disbelief. They were all getting a headache from Lucy's screaming.

X

"They're really playing hard!" John cheered. "I am absolutely flattered at how much energy they're putting in to this. I'm so glad they're enjoying themselves."

X

"I'm going to die before this game ends," Laura panted. "I'm not sure there's going to be a recovery after this."

X

"Oh my god, let me die," Jennifer cried. "I have a three-year-old at home, and I thought running after him was hard."

She stopped to wave momentarily.

"And when you see this, Will, mommy misses you, sweetie! I'll be home soon."

X

"Everything _hurts_," Stacy cried. "I don't know what possessed John to have us play rugby, but fuck him. This hurts way too much to be healthy."

X

"No no no no no no NO!" Sherlock screamed. "How did I miss that?"

"It's not my fault you can't steer around the snowmen," Amelia laughed.

Sherlock pulled a snarling face. He was _not_ going to lose. Not this round. Jump and slide to corner tightly, grab an item box...and watch Amelia crash into a snowman as he passed her.

"HA!" He cheered. "Who can't steer now?"

"Oh, I am coming to get you," Amelia growled in response. Suddenly, the competition was palpable.

And Sherlock wanted to win.

X

Lucy was heaving, but she stood in front of her team as John came down to greet them. They had won seventeen to ten. And she was damn proud of it.

"That was great," John cheered as he greeted them. "You all played amazingly. It was a really good game."

"Good game," Lucy shouted, slapping her teammates on the back. Her voice was starting to sound hoarse and crackling. A few of the other girls smiled weakly. Sarah was stretching everything, very slowly.

"Make sure you all stretch out and cool down," John instructed, watching them all carefully. "We don't need any injuries because of this. But after you're done we can all head to dinner."

All the girls perked up at that. Smiling, they started to stretch as they headed for the change rooms.

X

"Definitely worth it," Lucy beamed. "I'm so damn proud of all of us. It just went great."

X

"I am sore, and tired, and happy," Sarah laughed. "At least I can say that, if nothing else. And I get to see more of John."

X

"I'm kind of disappointed in myself," Andrea sighed. "I used to play women's rugby, myself, so this loss kind of hurt. I should do better."

X

"Banshee Boardwalk goes to Sherlock Holmes!" Sherlock announced, loudly, for the room to hear. "Fuck yes!"

"Don't get too cocky. I took Yoshi Valley, and Rainbow Road is totally my specialty," she responded, harshly. She's had a giddy smile on her face since Sherlock had started winning. Somehow, having an actual competitor had made the game worth while. They'd both lost track of how long they had been playing.

The countdown started on Rainbow Road.

X

As the girls sat down to dinner, they all started whispering. The rose was on the table, like always, but John supposed it was more exciting for them than for him. He made sure they were all comfortable, and food was on the table, before he began pulling girls aside for their alone time.

He started with Stacy.

X

"Rematch!" Amelia hollered. "I call for a rematch!"

"Fine," Sherlock agreed. He was getting the hang of this. And besides, she was still winning some rounds. Clearly he needed to rectify that fact.

X

"How'd you like the game today?" John asked as they sat down. Stacy smiled falsely.

"It's was okay. Rugby's not really my thing."

"That's too bad." John smiled and leaned back in to his chair. "It's a great game."

"If you say so." She looked at him questioningly, but didn't say anything further.

"Ah, so. Madrid is gorgeous isn't it?" he asked, trying to restart the conversation. This wasn't going to go well. He could already tell. One of _those_ dates.

"Yeah, it's beautiful. I saw most of it with my sister last year," She replied, calmly.

"Oh?" John asked. Maybe it wasn't going to be as bad as he thought. "Do you and her come here often?"

"No. Not really." She sighed. And looked at him again.

Nevermind. This was going to be a long half hour.

X

"It was good to get the exercise," Sarah said, smiling. "It's been so hard with all those plane rides, and being cloistered in the hotel room. It feels nice to stretch and work some muscles."

"Ah, yeah, I bet it does," John answered, lightly. He was smiling too. "I keep forgetting they keep you all locked in there."

"Well, it's not like it's awful." Sarah laughed, happy. "It's a five-star hotel after all."

"Yeah, I'm sure that doesn't hurt." John smiled and felt himself leaning sideways, to rest his shoulder against hers. Sighing, she sunk in to him and turned her head up towards him.

He couldn't help but lean down and kiss her, deeply, passionately, and happily. He really could see himself with Sarah, for a very long time. She was great. Really great.

He could maybe marry her. And that was a big positive in favour of this whole show.

X

"ARGH," Sherlock screamed, a red shell throwing him off the edge of Choco Moutain, effectively moving him from first to eighth. "What the hell kind of game has such a stupid and unavoidable trap like that?"

"Both of you need to calm down!" Stephanie snapped from the kitchen. "It's a fucking game!"

"Piss off!" Sherlock and Amelia chorused.

X

John brought the rose out when he went out with Lucy. She smiled as they settled down, and they both knew what was coming.

"You did a bloody fantastic job today," John praised. "You've played before?"

"Not played, no," Lucy admitted blushing at his praise. "But I knew a lot about it from an ex-boyfriend."

"He was a player or a fan?" John asked casually. He didn't know if it was a safe subject or a bad one. He was bad at judging.

"A fan, and a complete arse," Lucy said calmly, tensing up a bit. Okay. Bad subject then. "Let's not talk about him."

"Ah, sorry. Didn't mean to bring up bad topics." John fiddled with the rose, and decided to change the subject. "Look, um, I think you were definitely the best player out there to today. You really had your heart in it, and I could see that."

Lucy blushed, but she smiled too. "It really means a lot to me, to be able to win. I want to spend time with you."

"I'm flattered," John said smiling. He was flattered. He didn't think he was that interesting. In fact, he assumed he was downright boring. "I'm enjoying time with you too, and honestly. I think you deserve this. Will you accept this rose?"

"Always," Lucy murmured, resting the flower just under her nose, and smelling it like it was the most beautiful fragrance. "Always."

X

"I feel a thousand times better," Lucy sighed. "I was wondering if maybe I came off as a bit crazy. But I enjoyed that. I feel like a new person. Less weepy, and more assertive. I hate being stepped on."

She sighed.

"I still think John is the one, though. This rough, rugby playing side of him is so dreamy."

X

"I see we've been busy today," Dave commented, with a glance at the paused game and a smile. "I'm glad everyone can keep themselves entertained while they're not out."

He paused to watch everyone but Sherlock and Amelia cringe. Apparently the loud game play hadn't gone over well. Sherlock didn't really care.

"Are you all ready for the next invitation?"

"Yes!" Anna called. Dave handed it directly to her.

"You can do the honours then," he said, then left.

"Stephanie," Anna read, a touch of disappointment in her voice, "We've got a box seat."

Huh. Play, more likely an opera. Stephanie looked pleased. Anna certainly didn't. All Sherlock wanted was to keep playing Mario Kart. At least video games provided enough stimulation, and reflex training, to keep him just outside of bored and away from Mycroft.

All he could ask for was away from Mycroft.

X

He found the note hen he got back to his hotel room.

_My dear little brother,_ Mycroft wrote - probably sarcastically - _I know you're enjoying your stay here. Developments have come up where I no longer need your assistance. Besides, Mummy said that she's happy you've found someone that you like who can also tolerate you._

Mummy did _not_ say that. She was never that blunt about his lack of romantic partners.

_Do remember, I got you on this show, and I can get you kicked off. I hope you're more accommodating next time your brother asks you for a favour._

_Also, Inspector Lestrade says hello, and wishes you the best of luck. He says he and the rest Yard will be watching the episodes when they come out._

_Your affectionate brother,_

_Mycroft Holmes._

Well, fuck. Punishment for not obeying Mycroft is months of misery and teasing, when he tries to solve any cases for the police force. He could already picture Anderson's face, and that made him cringe both inwardly and outwardly. That man was a fucking idiot. Even thinking about him felt like he was killing brain cells.

Suddenly Sherlock never wanted to return to London.

X

"Oh my gosh," Stephanie gushed as she stepped out of the car the next day. She was wearing a beautiful but short shimmery red dress, and John wasn't quite sure she knew what "opera attire" was anymore. "I'm so excited!"

"You seem to be," John laughed. He thought she'd enjoy this. "The opera starts in half an hour, so we'd better get going."

"Really?" Stephanie cried, delighted. "Which opera?"

"Mozart's _La Clemenza di Tito_." John had practiced saying that until he didn't fuck up the Italian. It wasn't an opera he was familiar with, but he was told it was good.

"Mmm," Stephanie sighed. "Good. I love Mozart's operas."

John started to lead them in, so they could get to their seats before curtain call.

"You like operas?" he asked, casually.

"Love them," she answered, clasping her hands to her heart. "I always wanted to play Carmen when I was little. That's why I started acting. Well, and singing, but I'm not as good at that as I want to be."

"I'm sure you sing beautifully," John reassured. "You have a lovely voice."

"Thank you," she sighed. "I still wish I was good enough to be in an opera."

John looked over to see if she was alright, but she just smiled up at him.

"It'll be great to enjoy one again," she laughed. "I'm looking forward to it."

X

The Nintendo 64 was tucked back under the television by lunch. Amelia had called it quits after Lucy started complaining. There was something very vocal about Lucy - she could shut up the entire room, if she needed to. And Sherlock, honestly wasn't protesting. He wasn't as lively today as he had been yesterday. Tired after a night of obsessing about his shattered reputation at the Yard.

So he had taken his book, and curled into his chair and read. And as evening was setting in, some of the girls had gathered around the sofa, fighting over which movie to watch. He heard the word "sleepover" briefly.

"Sherlock," Jennifer called, holding a bottle of wine, "get over here and watch this movie with us."

"No, thank you," he replied. He didn't want to offend the few people who liked him, but he could already tell that he didn't want to be part of this.

"Did that sound like a question?" Lucy yelled. She had gotten up and stalked over to him. "We're doing our best to include you. Least you can do is _try_ to enjoy it."

"You don't have to worry about including me," Sherlock groaned, as Lucy yanked him out of his chair, with a bit of force. Or tried to, anyway. Sherlock may be skinny, but Lucy certainly wasn't strong.

"Come on," Andrea called. Why were they all against him? He didn't have the energy for this nonsense. "Get over here. We want to figure out how you get your hair in those perfect little curls."

"It grows that way," he retorted. But he really didn't have the desire to fight, and Lucy was still tugging on his arm, and if he joined their nonsense, at the very least he could get her to _stop touching him_.

So he stood, brushed her off, and came to sit slightly outside of their circle, while Andrea insisted that hair couldn't _possibly_ grow that way naturally.

X

As the curtain came down for intermission, John noticed Stephanie was crying. Just a few tears, nothing that would ruin her make up, but she was definitely affected. A bit of panic stirred in him. She wasn't crying because of him, was she? Just the opera?

It hadn't been that moving, had it?

"Are you alright?" he asked quietly, frantically searching for a handkerchief. He found one, but it was in rough shape.

"I'm fine," she answered, taking John's crumpled offering and dabbing at her eyes. "I just love Vitellia's part. It's so tragically beautiful."

"Really?" John didn't see how. Vitellia had seduced the Emperor Tito's best friend, Sesto, _then_ convinced him to kill the emperor for spurning her. John had kind of felt that she was fickle and greedy. He tried to temper that response for Stephanie. "I honestly didn't find her that likable."

"It's just so sad and beautiful what a woman will do for love," Stephanie sighed, more or less ignoring John's lack of enthusiasm. "I hope I can love that deeply someday, that I would kill for it."

"Hopefully you never have to kill for love," John said, laughing in nervousness. He took a bit of courage from the fact that she said 'someday.'

X

"You have such beautiful hands," Jennifer sighed. "I wish mine were shaped that well."

Sherlock really wasn't sure what was so appealing about cooing over each other's body parts and braiding hair or painting nails. He had narrowly avoided having his painted, and that was only with a very firm refusal. He wasn't going to put up with this nonsense much longer.

"Okay," Andrea said solemnly. "Can we talk about John now?"

"Why are we talking about John?" Sherlock questioned, suddenly terrified.

"Because that's what we're thinking about," Lucy sighed. "We might as well discuss it."

Oh no, Sherlock was not in the mood for this. He was not lazing around and chatting about how _dreamy_ John was, or how he was utterly confused about whether or not he was enjoying this experience, or how proud he had been when John hadn't need a cane in the Louvre. These were weaknesses. He wasn't about to share any of this with a gaggle of women. He needed to run.

"I think I'm going to sleep," Sherlock grumbled, standing and pulling away from the rest of them. Nail polish, hair, and boys. Wow, he was really grateful he wasn't a girl suddenly. Being forced to participate in the fringes of one of these get-togethers was enough to last him a lifetime.

"Aw, but the movie's only half done," Laura complained. "It's just getting good."

"The female spy eventually escapes, using her sexual prowess, and hooks up with the terrorist agent turned government mole. I'm sure they live happily ever after," Sherlock called, stalking to his room.

"Oh, come on!" Laura shouted. "You could have left the movie alone!"

He smirked, and kept walking.

X

It was dinner, and Stephanie was sitting far too close. John knew he shouldn't be worried about this. A pretty actress in a short skirt wants to sit close and put her hand on his thigh? He should be ecstatic. But he wasn't. The way she rubbed his leg, and whispered in his ear, and tried to be coy were too forward. John was never comfortable with quick moving relationships, and as far as he was concerned he barely knew Stephanie.

He was starting to feel like an animal caught in a trap.

"You're so gorgeous," she crooned. She had also switched from intelligent conversation about opera to fawning over him vapidly and making innuendoes that John pretended not to get. "I just want to eat you all up."

"I'm sure dessert would taste better," John said nervously. Sweating. He was sweating.

"Mmm, I don't think so," she whispered, licking at his ear. "Why don't we skip dessert?"

"Ahhhh..." How do you say 'please don't touch me' politely?

She leaned in closer and lowered her voice so he could barely hear her. "I'm not wearing any panties."

Alright then. No more kid gloves. John pushed away so he could look her in the eyes without her grabbing his crotch.

"Look, Stephanie," he started, then paused. She looked terrified, but he had to do this. It wasn't going to work. "You're a wonderful girl. I had a great time with you, but I think we both know this isn't working."

"John," she whined. "Please don't."

"You're so confident and open and I think that's great," he kept going. He had to do this. He wasn't going to make the wrong decision just to regret it. "But I'm a lot more conservative than you, and this dynamic just isn't working."

"Oh god," she whispered. It looked like she was going to cry. John felt awful. But not awful enough to not say it.

"I can't give you this rose," he whispered. "I'm really sorry, but I can't."

And then she started sobbing properly. He dug out his handkerchief again, and sidled closer. Not too close though.

"Hey. Hey, don't cry," he consoled. She put her head down on his shoulder and sobbed deeply. "It's okay. You're a fabulous woman. You'll find someone."

"I thought I found _you_," she cried, shaking her head against his shoulder. "I thought I found you."

"I'm not the right guy for you. You'll get over me." He was _not_ the right guy. That was something he was certain of. "Come on, now, cheer up."

She stood shakily, and started walking away. She shook her head, stumbled, and kept going.

All John could do was watch.

X

BAM.

"Hey, what's going on?" There was an uproar in the living room. How could Sherlock _not_ go see what was happening? He had enough forethought to throw on his robe before bursting in.

A crew member had stomped in, not saying a word, and grabbed Stephanie's packed suitcase. Every girl was instructed to pack everything before a one-on-one date, but no one had ever been sent home on one. Looks like Stephanie was going to be the first.

"Oh my god," Anna gasped as he stomped out. "What happened?"

"She was probably too forward for John," Sherlock observed loudly. "He always was uncomfortable with her advances."

"You think she like...you know, pulled an Amanda on him?" Karen asked incredulously. Sherlock immediately wanted to crawl into a hole and potentially die. "I know she's fake, but is she that _stupid_?"

"Or bitchy. It could have just been bitchiness," Cecelia pointed out.

"Oh my god." Anna apparently wasn't getting over her surprise.

"Well," Lucy said cautiously. "I guess things just got serious."

X

"I tried everything I knew," Stephanie sobbed. "I don't know. I'm not sexy enough for him? Is that the problem?"

She paused to catch her breath and look at the camera, tears still dripping.

"I just want love. I want to try again. I want someone to love me. When do I get that?"

X

"When they came and got that suitcase, I could have fainted," Anna cried. "I can't imagine how painful it would be to be sent home like that, without any goodbyes. I hope Stephanie is okay."

X

"Wow." Laura's eyes were wide. "Wow. I don't think any of us even realized that this was a possibility. John's so sweet. I don't know what went wrong, but it must have been something terrible."

X

"I do feel really bad about it," John said to the camera. "I can't lie and say I don't. I don't ever want to make a girl cry. And maybe under different circumstances, I would have accepted her advances. But that's not the way to build a relationship. Especially when there are so many other girls here."

He looked at his feet. Before mumbling, "I couldn't do that to any of them, much less all of them at once."

X

Sherlock had avoided the common room before the rose ceremony. He could hear the screeching gossip through the walls, and he _did not_ want to be a part of it. He could guess at what happened. She had gone too far outside of John's comfort zone, probably offered him sex and he had had to refuse it, because he was honourable like that. She was fake as plastic, anyway, so it wasn't a big loss.

But everyone else was terrified. Which didn't make sense. None of these girls were like her. And most of them were at least somewhat compatible with John.

John liked everyone, though. That wasn't much of a problem.

But the uproar in the living room was giving him a headache, and trying to read had been awful, and he was happy to be somewhere quieter.

Mind you, the hall for the ceremony was only quieter because they were whispering instead of screaming.

He was looking forward to talking to John. At least John was reasonable. And calm.

X

"So," John said. He had been trying to redeem his conversation with Stacy. He really was.

It wasn't working.

"You said you were an accountant?" John asked hopefully.

"Yeah," she answered. Nothing more.

"Is it a good job?"

"I guess so." She started to pick her fingernails. John just wanted this to end.

She obviously did too.

X

"He's kind of predictable," Stacy yawned at a camera. "I do like him. A lot. He tries so hard. But he's not good at conversation."

X

Sherlock could have cheered when John pulled him aside. John looked relieved too.

"It's great to see you again," John said, giving him a hug. Sherlock's face twitched. A smile?

"Agreed. It's been a long week." Sherlock relaxed in to the sofa as he sat, suddenly feeling a lot better.

"Ah, I'm sorry," John cringed, sitting down beside him. "I was told you had an urgent call?"

Oh. So _that_ was Mycroft's game. There was probably a bribe in there too.

"I didn't end up taking it," Sherlock sighed. "My brother needs to learn to live with his mistakes."

"You have a brother?" John lit up. New facts about Sherlock were always interesting. "Older or younger?"

"Older. Much to my chagrin." Well, there were worse topics than Mycroft, he supposed. And it was nice to have some easy conversation that didn't involve screaming or boredom.

"He annoys you?" John could understand that. Harry annoyed him a lot of the time.

"More than that. I would call us enemies, most of the time." Sherlock sighed. Family relationships were complex.

"But you work together?"

"No," Sherlock quickly retorted, laughing a bit at the utter absurdity of that image. "Definitely not. Occasionally, he brings me a case to solve for him, in exchange for money. But he's more likely to spend effort getting rid of me. He put me on this set because I started investigating one of his..._clients._"

He wasn't sure why he told John that. He wasn't sure why he had told John any of this. Maybe because John was steady and calm, and so utterly open about himself, or maybe because he just needed to tell someone. Or he might go insane.

But John looked worried.

"I thought you were bored?" he asked, curious and cautious.

"I stayed because I was bored," Sherlock affirmed. "And now I'm here because I want to be. I didn't go home, because I don't want to."

John was blushing. Furiously, even. And Sherlock had the sudden urge to kiss him. That wasn't weird, was it? John had already kissed him once, but when it was his turn, things were strange. This was what he was supposed to do, though. He had to inch closer. He had to move faster.

Slowly, he slid sideways until he was close enough to reach, and then pecked john on the cheek. Quickly.

John's face was somewhere between beet red and utterly confused. It was _hilarious_.

"I, um," John stuttered uselessly, "I'm glad you stayed, Sherlock."

"So am I," Sherlock said. Time to change the subject before things got awkward and he thought too much about how not smooth that was. How were people any good at this? "Where are we heading next week?"

John smiled. "Athens."

X

Later in the evening, when he was off getting ready to hand out roses, John freaked out. Sherlock had _kissed him_. Not the other way around, and not by force or anything. And he had chosen staying with John over his job. That was... impressive, especially since John was certain that Sherlock had been bored out of his mind this week.

And he was glad. Genuinely glad. Sherlock liked him.

He had to take a deep breath and calm himself. Was there a good way to show Sherlock he appreciated the initiative?

"You ready, John?" Dave called. "Time to head out.

X

The rose ceremony came quickly. All the girls shuffled in to their traditional lines, Sherlock at the side, so as not to block anyone's view. Dave swerved in, with John by his side.

"Ladies, and gentleman," Dave announced, "It's been an exciting week in Madrid. From Libraries to Rugby, we've had a lot of excitement. As you all know, Stephanie has already left after her date last night."

A few of the girls muttered softly.

"But the rest of you are still here. Lucy, Amelia, you are both safe. There are ten roses here. That means one of you will be going home." He waved at John standing beside the tray of roses. "When you're ready, John."

And then Dave bowed out. John picked up the first rose.

"Sherlock," he called. Sherlock smiled and walked up to accept. "Sherlock, will you accept this rose?"

"Of course, John," Sherlock muttered, taking the rose. John handed it over, with a swift kiss on Sherlock's cheek.

"Repayment," he said softly. Sherlock wasn't sure what that meant, but John seemed happy enough. He took his rose and stood in line.

"Oh my gosh," he could hear behind him. "Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh, he did _not_." Adele didn't sound threatened, just shocked. There were other whispers too. From what he gleaned, they hadn't actually known John would kiss him. Shocking. Scandalous, even. Sherlock wasn't sure if he was embarrassed or proud. He did like to be surprising.

"Sarah," John called next. She came up and gave him a tight hug. He hugged back. "Will you accept this rose?"

"I will," she sighed, taking it back with her.

"Laura," he called next. Then Emily, then Cecelia. Jennifer, Adele, Andrea, Karen. It was down to Stacy and Anna.

"Anna," he called, softly, giving her the last rose.

Stacy walked over to him, and gave him a hug. She looked defeated, more than sad, like the life had drained out of her. "Thank you for giving me a chance," she whispered.

John tried to be consoling. He didn't think he did a good job, though.

X

"I guess we aren't as compatible as I thought," Stacy sighed. "It feels awful, but I don't want to waste any tears on it. This happens. There's only a chance for one of us, and I guess I wasn't the one."

She got up and walked off screen.

"I don't want to talk anymore," could be heard as she moved away.

X

"I always worry when I'm picked last," Anna fretted. "It always feels like I've failed, or I've done something badly that I could have done better. I don't know. I know there's nothing I can do - it's just a matter of whether or not he likes me."

She started tearing up, and tried to rub her eyes, wiping away the evidence.

"I just hope he likes me more than that."

X

When John got back to his hotel room, there was a tall, slightly overweight man sitting in the chair by his bed. He wasn't sure he wanted to deal with this at three in the morning.

"Doctor John Watson, I presume?" the man drawled, not moving from his chair. John hovered near the entrance.

"Yes. Who would you be?" That was his best gruff voice. Hopefully it was convincing.

"Mycroft Holmes. Normally I wouldn't state my name, but I believe it is relevant to my business this evening." He shifted slightly, to lace his fingers. Somehow John wasn't surprised that the other Holmes was just as collected as Sherlock.

"You're Sherlock's brother," John stated. He cringed, inwardly. Great, John. State the obvious and look as stupid as possible. If Mycroft was half as intelligent as Sherlock, John probably sounded dumber than a Neanderthal.

"Yes, good. I see he's mentioned me." Mycroft's smile was evil. "That is exactly why I'm here."

"Because he mentioned he has family?" Oh, now John was confused too. Just to make everything better. Why can't people harass him at normal hours?

"Sherlock never mentions personal details to anyone." Mycroft's smile disappeared. "Nor does he refuse casework for something as trivial as a television contract."

"Your point?" John was trying not to be flattered. Apparently, Sherlock trusted him a lot. That... felt good.

"My point is that my brother is inexperienced in this area, and he is sometimes more naïve than he wishes to admit," Mycroft continued. "I just want you to be aware of how fragile he really is, and how powerful his connections are."

John stared. And then...just kept staring. Really? Were they in some twisted version of grade school, still?

"Did you just threaten me?" He asked, trying to remain calm.

"I'll leave that up to you," Mycroft said, politely standing and grabbing his umbrella on the way out. "Treat my brother well, Dr. Watson. I do so worry about him."

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind," John muttered as Mycroft left. He wasn't really sure what had just happened.

Mycroft Holmes had appeared in his room, and basically told him not to break his brother's heart. Then waltzed out, like nothing happened. Plus, Sherlock Holmes was the first man John had ever even contemplated a romance with. His life was getting way too complicated way too quickly, and there was no one to talk to.

He just wanted to be less confused, less tired, and slightly less guilty. Every single time he had to send a girl home, he was left with that sunken feeling of guilt. He wondered how long it would take to get over that.

Fuck it. He needed to go to sleep.


	5. Episode 5

Episode Five

The very quiet uproar didn't start until they had settled into their hotel in Athens. Probably because there hadn't been a chance to gossip or be scandalized while they were traveling. All in all, Sherlock was glad that he had a room to escape to before the girls got into it. He heard most of the whispering, though.

"I never thought about it before," Anna whispered to Karen. "I'm not sure I'm okay with it, either. I mean, I didn't really think about John, like _that _and then seeing it? It's just kinda weird."

"It's not that big of a deal," Karen answered, also quietly. "I mean, it's no different than anything that's going on between all the rest of us."

"But," she stopped herself. "I'm not trying to sound homophobic. I don't care if two guys like each other. I'm just not sure I can handle my boyfriend _having_ a boyfriend."

"As opposed to having ten other girlfriends?" Karen wasn't being as quiet anymore. "You'll live, Anna. It sucks just as much as the rest of this dating thing."

Karen left. Anna glanced surreptitiously at him from the couch, hand squeezed in her lap. She really wasn't strong-willed. Sherlock would have been happy to discuss his potential involvement with John, if she wanted to. He'd be happy to tell her that there probably wasn't anything to worry about.

So far his "romance" with John had included one in-the-moment kiss, one awkward kiss on the cheek from himself, and "repayment" for that kiss from John. A mere obligation. They obviously enjoyed each other's company, but there was no way John was that "into" him. To phrase it colloquially.

After all, who would pass up two point five children and a stable, acceptable, heterosexual relationship for a mad dash with a disagreeable, unstable, socially awkward man? He wasn't even John's preferred gender. If he were completely honest, he didn't have a snowball's chance in hell.

All the women should know that. He couldn't understand why they were making such a big deal about a peck on the cheek...or why he was even still thinking about it incessantly.

X

"I don't know why it bothers me," Anna sighed at the camera, "but it's different than seeing John kiss the other girls. It worries me. And I'm not sure I'm okay with being worried about the guy I love."

X

He wasn't entirely happy with his decisions at this point. What he wanted to do was take out Sherlock and talk to him. John really felt like they needed a conversation that lasted more than fifteen minutes. And for more reasons than the fact that John'd been threatened by his rather terrifying brother.

But he still had other girls who hadn't had a one-on-one date yet. And it wasn't fair to give second dates to people who had already had one, when there were girls who hadn't. He might be able to justify it next week - when there would be fewer women, and more time for him to spread around. But it just wasn't going to happen this week.

He also wanted a second date with Sarah, and maybe Karen. But he wasn't getting those either. The formula of the show was kind of restricting.

So was his desire to be fair.

But the cards were done now. He just had to drop them off, and see what happened.

X

"You're making a fuss about nothing," Emily was saying from the corner of the couch when Sherlock came back into the room for the invitation. "Try to maintain focus."

Adele glanced at him, then away before she walked over and took a seat. Suspicious. Not like Sherlock didn't know exactly what they were talking about anyway. That's all the conversation had been since they had arrived. Apparently actually _seeing_ John kiss him was really just that shocking. That made absolutely no sense to him. They knew he was still here. They knew John had taken him on a one on one. Really, could they not have thought of this going on before now? Especially when one of the previous parties in question had constantly accused him of giving blow jobs to the man.

He settled down in his chair, just as Dave made his appearance, wearing distinctly summery clothes.

"Hello ladies, and gentleman," he started, calmly bringing out the invitation. "I trust you're enjoying the warm weather?"

A lot of the girls nodded. Sherlock tried to pretend he wasn't incredibly uncomfortable. Of course they had to visit during a heat wave. Because he loved being far too hot. Thank christ for air conditioning. For once he did not wish to set one foot outside of their suites.

"As some of you may know, we're approaching the halfway point on journey." He smiled. "That means that as of today, everyone will be on a date, whether it's a group date or a one-on-one."

A few girls cheered. Anna and Lucy looked delighted.

"With that said, the first invitation is here. I'll leave it for you to read." He dropped the note and disappeared as Lucy lunged.

"_Lucy_," she read with a squeal, "Let's brush up on our history."

"Wow, that's going to be awesome!"

Phew. Sherlock counted himself lucky to have one more day far from the wretched sun.

X

"Of course I'm ecstatic," Lucy gleefully confirmed. "I've been waiting for this for weeks. I don't even care what we're doing, as long as it's with John. I just want to show him how much he means to me, and get to talk to him and be completely open with him."

She sighed with a smiled.

"Hopefully he finds me as wonderful as I find him."

X

The next day, Lucy stepped out of the car to meet John in front of an open air amphitheatre. The grass was growing around them, and the structure looming behind him looked more like ruins than a functional structure. At the moment, though, John figured she didn't care.

"John!" She called, running up to him. She threw herself into a hug, around his waist, half pulling him off balance.

"Hello, then," John laughed, trying to catch himself before falling. "They're putting on Euripides' _Helen, _if you want to find a seat?"

"Of course," she said, smiling. "I've never heard of it, but I'm sure it will be great."

"It's ancient Greek. Set after the Trojan war," John supplied. It had sounded like a good play, and it wasn't a tragedy. Thankfully. "You'll see. It's not set up like a regular play."

"Well, I hope not." They started walking towards the empty stone seats. "I'm not really a fan of theatre."

John cringed on the inside. Hopefully Ancient Greek theatre wasn't too much for Lucy to handle.

X

"I always seem to be the one who doesn't understand what the big deal is about," Emily sighed to a confessional. "I've had three different people try to talk to me about how - oh my god - John kissed Sherlock. Yes. I get it. We all saw."

Her mouth twisted into a half-frown. "He's kissed most of the rest of us too. Or we've kissed him. Girls are throwing themselves out there. Why can't he share a moment with Sherlock? He's here for the same reason as you or me. I like John too. It hurts to watch him kiss other people. But he's already done it. Get over it."

She sighed. "I just had to get that out. Sometimes, I think I'm going to lose my zen in here."

X

Emily had wisely put on a pair of headphones and taken her meditation to the sunny corner, beside the balcony. Sherlock wished he could do similar. He had noticed the split growing - it was a fascinating study in group dynamics. Slowly, over the last day, the women had split in to two camps: those who were okay with John kissing him, and those who were not.

Sure, one or two women seemed to be halfway between the two, but more or less, there were just the two sides. He got to sit in the middle, left alone, but hearing all of it. Again he was struck by the apparent reality that it was all well and good when John was ambiguous about him being here, but when there was an overt display of affection involved that just seemed to be too much for so-called 'virgin' eyes to bear.

Adele had been antsy, the whole time. She seemed to want to watch soap operas with Laura, but wasn't sure if she was welcome. Laura was obviously in the opposite camp. She didn't acknowledge Adele at all, and seemed to be completely indifferent as to whether or not the other girl sat down.

"I know you had a fight," Karen said from the door to the hallway, "but I'm sure you can still sit down and watch, Adele."

"I don't want to intrude, is all," Adele muttered, ashamed. She took a seat anyway.

"You're not intruding if you don't say anything rude," Laura replied, harsher than usual. "If you can act like an adult, I can tolerate your company."

"You're acting more childish than I am!" Adele responded, moving to the furthest end of the couch. Sherlock kept reading. "I just wanted to talk to you. Try to get off your high fucking horse."

"I will when you do," Laura, snapped. "I don't insult people who don't deserve it when I'm upset."

"Fine," Adele snarled. "Sorry for being a little insecure."

"Emily!" Karen said cheerily, having made her way over to the balcony window. "Can I join you?"

Emily pulled her headphones out and looked up. "I'd be delighted if you would."

Sherlock smiled into his book. The conflict might have been unintentional, but it was going to be _so_ interesting to watch.

He wondered if there would be fist fights. _Please,_ let there be fist fights.

X

"All I said was that I didn't like watching John and Sherlock kiss," Adele whined. "She took it way out of proportion. I wasn't saying I hate gays. I just don't want to see the guy I like kissing another man."

She looked around, as if she was trying to rally support.

"That's not so bad, is it?"

X

"Her exact words," Laura intoned flatly, "were 'That kiss was absolutely nasty.' I think we've all had enough homophobia with Tara, and I wasn't going to sit there and listen to her rail on about it like that. She said a few other things too. Not okay."

X

Lucy had been quiet through the play. John wasn't sure if she was engrossed or bored. It was definitely an odd and interesting spectacle, though. The way the chorus interacted with the sparse actors, and the structural flow of the piece was beautiful, if strange.

He took her hand as they left, feeling her sigh and rest against his shoulder. They climbed the stairs mostly in silence. However, unlike with Sarah, this silence wasn't comfortable and was moving dangerously towards the land of awkward.

"That was beautiful," John ventured. "The acting was superb."

"It was," Lucy responded. "It was a bit hard to follow, but the romantic escape was totally worth it. I didn't think Helen and Menelaus would make it out."

"It really was a dramatic scene, wasn't it?" John gently led her towards the car. They needed a ride back to the city.

"It was. I hope I can have that kind of love someday." She sighed. "Us against the world. It's just so amazing to have that much love for each other."

John wasn't so sure. "It's a nice idea," he compromised. " I certainly don't agree that love should be limited by social perceptions."

"But you don't think it's practical?" They settled in to the car, and Lucy stared up at him as the driver left. She seemed flabbergasted, like she couldn't believe he wouldn't want that kind of romanticized idea of love versus conflict.

"I don't think it's as pleasant in reality, is all." He was thinking of Harry. How bad it had been when she brought her first girlfriend home. The friends that had immediately spread rumours about her when she came out. Clara.

He wasn't sure he could talk about that any more.

"So," he deflected, "what's been going on that I don't know about?"

X

"Oh, if John knew about the drama he was causing," Karen sighed. "I'm pretty sure he'd be disappointed with us for causing such a fuss about something so small."

She shook her head gently.

"I just wish they'd leave Sherlock alone. Last thing he needs is to be drilled for details."

X

Sherlock was genuinely wondering if he could manage to spend the rest of the day in his room. Surely this counted as a dire situation? He needed to leave for his own protection.

"So, just kissing then?" Cecelia asked sweetly. And fakely. "Nothing more?"

"My personal affairs are my business, thank you," Sherlock retorted. He wasn't about to indulge her or Andrea in this matter. He was trying not to read too much into anything himself - especially since he had the more than probable suspicion that it would all amount to fuck all.

"We can bully it out of you," Andrea laughed. She had gotten a touch less friendly after the kiss incident (as it was now catalogued) but she hadn't been terrified or rude. Just less gentle. However, her threats were still laughable, and he had to actually supress a snicker. He'd been interrogated by far more formidable.

"You could try," Sherlock agreed, settling back in to a book. He was getting far too much reading done, lately. "But I doubt it would be successful."

"Why so stubborn?" Andrea's teasing was almost friendly. Cecelia's just had an undercurrent of burning jealousy.

"I like my privacy." Sherlock threw back his head and stood up. "If you'll excuse me."

Formality was working. He deflected them and pretended to not be rushing to his room. No one could begrudge him a few hours of peace.

Right?

X

Conversation with Lucy had been easy, though not very deep. It had been somewhat relaxing, though, and not that bad for a first date alone. If they had been dating in a more casual setting, he probably would have taken her out a second time.

That was enough for him, but somehow he felt like it shouldn't be. She was kind of vapid and really not as drawing as a lot of the other girls...or Sherlock. Fuck, his thoughts were getting maddeningly circular and he still didn't really want to think about why.

"Lucy," he said softly, grabbing the rose from the table. He really hoped he wasn't making a mistake here.

"Yeah, John?" she murmured, suddenly breathless.

"Will you accept this rose?"

She leaned in to kiss him, deeply.

X

"I love him so much," Lucy whispered. "He's deep and thoughtful and so good natured. I can't imagine anyone better for me. He's perfect."

She stared at the rose in her hands, an expression lost just before tears.

X

"Lucy's nice," John said. "I like her. I'm not sure how much yet, but I _do _like her." That felt like a bit of a lie, especially the considering the fact that he had to restrain a grimace through that kiss. However, it didn't much matter right now. At the very least he could give her one more chance.

X

There was a sudden hush when Sherlock returned to the common room. Not like he hadn't expected that. He was used to these kinds of whispers, and had learned to ignore them over the years. Just like he was going to now.

He was well settled in to his chair, and conversation had returned to normal before Dave showed up, invitation in hand.

"Hello, everyone," he said, keeping in line with his less formal Athens persona. "Are we ready to learn about tomorrow's date?"

"Yes!" Some of the girls answered obediently. Sherlock just waited. He had a feeling this wouldn't be good, but maybe, just this once, he would be wrong.

"Good. Here you are," he said, handing his envelope to Sarah and disappearing.

She stood up to read it.

"Andrea, Cecelia, Sarah, Adele, Emily, Amelia, Sherlock, Anna, Laura, Karen," She said, all in one breath. "Let's set sail for love."

"Oh my gosh, sailing!" someone screamed.

"It's going to be amazing," Anna sighed.

No, he wasn't wrong. Fuck. Outside on a boat in forty degree weather? Woo hoo.

There was no way this would end well.

X

It took about an hour to get them to a port on the Aegean sea. An hour in a tight car, with seven gossiping women and... thirty-four degree heat. He had managed to dig out somewhat lighter clothes - a white button up, and charcoal trousers, which were better than black he _supposed_ - but he somehow doubted that would help. Most of the women were wearing minidresses with swimming suits underneath.

He was envious of their wadrobe selection. And by the time they tumbled out of the cars in front of John and a sailboat, he was already sweating. He immediately noticed the sun's relentless glare, and how humid and thick the air was outside the car. Already it was getting increasingly uncomfortable.

This really just wasn't his climate.

"Hello, everyone!" John called from beside the sailboat. He was wearing a pair of swimming trunks and a short sleeved button up. He gestured to an older gentleman, sitting quietly on the sailboat. "Come meet Alexandros!"

The excited rush towards the seaside left Sherlock walking behind the skittering women. By the time they got there, Alexandros had climbed down to stand beside John, idly fiddling with one of the ties before turning towards the cameras.

"Alright," John began, clearly excited, "obviously, we're setting sail on the Aegean sea today. Alexandros has kindly lent his boat to us. The only catch is that we're doing the sailing."

He smiled and waited for the excited and nervous exclamations to end.

"Alexandros is going to accompany us, and he'll show us whatt we need to do - but we're doing all the work. So be prepared to sweat a bit!"

Oh, yes. Sherlock was so excited. Joyous. _Overwhelmed._

X

"I love sailing!" Karen half-shouted, wind whipping through her hair. "I haven't gone for years, but this is going to be amazing. And it's a perfect day for it!"

X

"I've never been before," Anna said, barely louder than the sea itself. "I'm excited, but I'm also really glad we're not going alone."

X

Alexandros had been showing them the ropes - literally - for a while now. They were keeping the ship just offshore, so they could always see a place to land. Just in case. Not that John expected anything to go wrong. However this was reality television and the producers weren't keen on them potentially drowning no matter how slight the chance might be. It was more a matter of hedging bets. If something _did_ go wrong, they wanted to be able disembark quickly.

But the women and Sherlock had taken to sailing very easily. There was a surprising amount of rope pulling, and enough downtime that they all had a chance to socialize. Especially since Alexandros insisted on doing anything complex himself. The boat was his child - amateurs had to be supervised.

John had begun his usual system of pulling girls aside one at a time, for alone time. He decided to start with Laura.

"My turn?" she asked sweetly, as he tapped on her shoulder. "Awesome. I've been looking forward to this."

"My conversation isn't that good," John chuckled, lightly.

"It's obviously better than you think it is," she responded. "You've got a dozen people looking for your affection. That's gotta count for something."

X

"I love talking to John," Laura said later. "He's so open and unassuming. It's like we've known each other for years. Childhood friends, or something."

X

Sherlock felt sick. He had rolled his sleeves up, but he was sweating, and his heart was beating a mile a minute. He felt dizzy, too, to top it off. And he really just wasn't in the mood or small talk with Emily.

"Just don't let them get to you," she was saying, tugging on the same rope he was. "They're being stupid, and you don't deserve that."

"I'll try to keep that in mind."

He didn't really have the heart to tell her to fuck off and let him be sick in peace. Mostly because he needed allies rather than enemies, if half the women were going to hate him. And his show of helping pull the ropes wouldn't work so well if he passed out while doing it. Having a second person pick up his slack was defintiely helpful.

He watched as John was accosted by Cecelia - who had already stripped down to her bikini - and dragged off for another conversation.

X

"He doesn't look so great," Emily said to a camera. "It's been a rough few days, I would think, with a lot of the girls fighting over him. Honestly, he's a lot less psychotic and emotional than most of the women. I don't mind him at all."

She shook her head. "I just hope this doesn't hit him too hard."

X

Cecelia had dodged in and "stolen" him - to use her term - after he had finished with Anna. He wasn't sure if that level of forcefulness was necessary, but alright. It didn't matter much to him what order he talked to each of them. Everyone would get a chance anyway.

What bothered him was how guilty she was making him feel.

"I mean, a few of us were surprised. The difference between knowing it's happening and seeing it is a huge." She smiled, half-sadly. "It's just hard to deal with the reality."

"I know," John said sadly. He couldn't really say he was sorry for kissing Sherlock. He wasn't. But maybe he could have done so in a less public place. He genuinely liked these women. Some more than others, naturally, but he didn't want to hurt them. "I know. It's just something we have to get used to."

"Yeah," Cecelia said, sadly. "A bit of reassurance wouldn't hurt, though."

John smiled. He could give that. "None of you would be here if I didn't like you. You don't need to worry."

"I was thinking more of a kiss for me," she returned, greedily. He sighed, leaned in and pecked her on the cheek.

All he got in return was a weak smile.

X

"Boo," Cecelia sulked. "I was hoping for more than a little measly peck. I'm putitng myself out here, swimsuit and all. He can't give me a little more affection?"

X

Sherlock dropped the rope suddenly and leaned over the railing to retch. Not a good sign.

"Hey!" Emily yelled. "You alright?"

"Yes," he tried to say. It came out more of a yyyeeeeeeeeh. But whatever.

"Seasick?" Laura asked, calmly. She and Karen had come to visit after their talks with John. "Don't lean too far, we don't want a man overboard."

Sherlock stiffened his stomach muscles, forcibly stopping the contractions. He'd be damned if he was going to get sick on this trip. There was nothing like vomit to ruin someone's opinion of you and well...it was just an unpleasant experience that he'd managed to avoid for several years now. Mind you, forcing yourself to not regurgitate your lunch felt far worse than actually regurgitating it. Violent, painful, and not helping his already dizzy and nauseous state of being, now his muscles were aching too.

But he did have control of himself.

"I may need to sit for a moment, is all," he said, calmly. "I'll be fine in a minute."

He almost believed that, as he clutched to the railing. As long as he didn't have to move too much, he should be okay.

X

John searched for Sherlock next. He kind of wanted to talk about the apparent discord he had caused. Clearly, he should think a bit more before he did things.

He spotted Sherlock leaning against a railing, talking to a few girls. John noted that he looked flushed. Odd.

As he made his way over to them, they made eye contact. Sherlock really did look a bit miserable. The other man smiled weakly at him, and tried to stand up on his own.

And then collapsed on the deck in a dead faint.

"Shit," John said, rushing forward. Karen and Emily and Laura were obviously panicking.

"Pull him away from the side," John commanded, grabbing Sherlock's shoulders and dragging him a ways away with Karen's help. "What happened?"

"'M fine," Sherlock muttered, angrily, as he came back in to consciousness. Colour had completely drained from his already pale face, and he still couldn't seem to keep his head up. John was surprised he was still managing to speak coherently. "You don't have to worry."

John decided to ignore him, and did a quick check up. Skin was warm to the touch, pulse was fast and strong, and Sherlock stumbled when they picked him up, like he was too weak to stand or was losing motor control. Heat stroke. Fuck.

"Come on, let's get you to the shade," John said, thrusting an arm around his shoulders for support. He started to lead Sherlock to some of the rather sparse shade on the other side of the boat.

"I said I'm fine," Sherlock growled, trying to shrug him off. Weakly. The action was more like a slight raise of the arms rather than anything else, as John continued to basically drag him along. And his voice was shaking.

"Alexandros," John called, settling Sherlock in to a shady siting position, "can you steer us to shore?"

"What's going on?" One of the girls asked, nervously. "Is he okay?"

Sherlock's eyes rolled in to the back of his head as he lost consciousness again. John moved him into the recovery position, and started to unbutton his shirt. Sherlock's chest was quivering with how fast and shallow he was breathing as well as being slick with sweat. This was really not good.

"He's got heat stroke." John's eyes never left his patient. Panic. He wasn't sure how a trained doctor could be this panicky. Freaking out this badly was _not_ conducive to medical efficiency. Yelling and shaking him was going to help no one but the urge was still there. "Can someone me get me some cool water?"

"Do we need to take him to a hospital?" Andrea asked, as Sherlock came to, again. Sarah had grabbed the nearest woman - Anna - and scurried off to get water.

"Not as long as we can get him inside. Or at least off this boat." They really needed to get off this boat. Sherlock's eyes were unfocused, and again he tried to lift his head but failed. It was like he could barely catch his breath, as he shuddered from the effort it must be taking to stay conscious and talking.

"I am _not_ going to a hospital," Sherlock grumbled, but feebly. "I'm fine."

"Bullshit," John snapped. Someone needed to remind Sherlock of the definition of fine. "The car and medical team should have been shadowing us from the shore. Has someone called them?"

A cameraman nodded silently, pointing at his phone. John hadn't even heard him talking. Whatever, help was waiting. That was what he needed to hear right now.

"How long 'til shore, Alexandros?" He called. Sherlock looked like he was weakly trying to shift in to a sititng position, so John settled a hand on his shoulders. Staying still minimized the chances of fainting.

"Five minutes," Alexandros called, his thick accent booming. He seemed to be running the ship alone. "You worry about him, I'll get you back to shore."

Sarah chose that moment to come back with both a a bucket, and a cloth. She started making a compress, and passed it to them. John hoped they could cool him down fast enough to avoid anything serious.

X

"Oh my god, not good," Anna said quietly. "He looked like he was dying. I don't think anyone expected that."

X

"Who the fuck doesn't mention when they're slowly succumbing to heat stroke?" Laura exclaimed, obvisouly distressed. "I appreciate the attempt to keep the date going, but really? Medical emergencies versus time with John? I think the medical emergency wins."

X

"I hope this won't end the date," Cecelia whined. "It's not like I don't feel bad for him, but it's so unfair to the rest of us. There's a whole medical team to take care of him. John doesn't have to do it."

X

Sherlock stumbled carefully off the boat, supported by John, and looking rather disheveled. John helped in in to the back seat of the car, where he immediately slumped against the window. Fortunately, the air conditioning was on.

"Okay, hold on just a moment, Sherlock," John murmured softly. "I just have to call an end to this shenanigan, and I'll be right back."

"You should go back to the date," Sherlock rasped. "I'm sure the driver can take me back without incident."

John levelled a glare at him. "Not a fucking chance. I'm not letting a silly date come before _anyone's_ health, thank you."

"They're not going to like that."

"I don't want to date anyone who has a problem with that," John retorted vehemently. "And you need to lay still. I'll be back shortly."

After making sure he was settled and alright for the time being, John stepped back outside. Most of the girls were some degree of distressed. Sarah was clamly talking to Laura, who seemed a little sick herself. John decided to check in with her.

"It's alright," she was saying softly. "He's not so far gone that we have to worry about brain damage or fatalities or anything. He'll be fine as long as we keep him cool for the next twelve hours or so."

"You're sure?" Laura said, starting to calm down. "He doesn't need a hospital?"

"A hospital would send him home, most likely," John answered, calmly. "As long as he has someone to watch him, and a cool place to go. Which he does."

"Okay. Okay, good," Laura said, much calmer now. "It would be awful for something like this to happen."

"Yeah," John said, in complete agreement. He turned to Sarah. "I just wanted to thank you for helping out."

"Not a problem," she said with a smile. "It's not like I've never helped out a doctor before."

"Still," John said, not quite able to laugh. The panic might be over, but he was still worrying. "It's so wonderful to have you supporting me like that. Especially out here, too. I just hope none of the girls are in shock."

Sarah gave him a _look_. Not a smoldering, sexy look. More of a you-don't-want-to-know look. "I'll check but I don't think we have to worry about it. You're calling an end to this?"

"Yeah," John confirmed. "I just have to announce that the date is over."

"Go on, then," she said. "Get it over with."

He moved to a place he was more visible before clearing his throat. It didn't take much to grab everyone's attention.

"Ladies," he said, as loudly as he could, and feeling somewhat silly. He shouldn't have to _announce_ this. "I think we all know that we're heading back to the hotel, yeah?"

"What?" Cecelia asked, shocked. "Is the medical team not taking care of him?"

John tried valiantly to control his expression. He still frowned. "Even if they are, we're not going back out there when one of us is unwell. Another of you could get heat stroke, or soemthing serious could happen to Sherlock. I'm not gong to be responsible for either of those options. I'll see all of you back at the hotel."

The women were silent. Sarah started to herd them into the cars, checking for signs of shock as she did so. Most of them seemed fine. A few were worried and asked a couple questions about how Sherlock was. Some were just angry. John had crawled back in to the car with Sherlock and left.

X

"I feel like an ass," Karen said, head in her hands. "I should have noticed he was really not-okay sick before he passed out. I just figured he was a bit down because of the stuff going on."

She sighed. "Sometimes I think I've got him pegged all wrong."

X

"I'm just glad I could help," Sarah sighed, smiling happily at the camera. "If it makes John feel more secure and comfortable, I'm happy I can be there. I really think he'd be disappointed with how many girls are more concerned about the date than Sherlock, though."

X

"Fuck," Adele swore. "I didn't get any time with John, and now I'm _not_ getting any. How the hell am I supposed to make up for that? How am I supposed to relate to him if I never have a chance to build a relationship?"

X

It took them an hour and half to get back to the hotel room. Too long, in John's opinion, and far too long before he had managed to get Sherlock settled in his own bed. The consulting detective had only been half-aware for the better part of the drive, and had stumbled through walking - even with help - when they arrived.

After he had collapsed into bed, John had pulled Sherlock's shirt off, with only a small grumble of protest from the invalid, gotten a bucket of cold water and a clean cloth, and pressed his fresh cool compress to Sherlock's overheated torso. Alternating slowly between that and cooling his forehead, Sherlock was finally starting to cool down. It was such a good, relieving feeling, to see the panting ease out a bit, and feel the cooling of his skin. Watching Sherlock come back to a normal state was an almost euphoric feeling.

And John could tell how well he was feeling by the growing protestations.

"Oh, come off it, John," Sherlock snapped, still weakly trying to roll over. John noted that his motor control was coming back a bit. "You've been sitting here for two hours looking like a fucking mourner at a grave. It's just heat stroke."

"Last I checked, heat stroke is a pretty serious condition, Sherlock," John retorted, continuing to mop his compress along the detective's chest, despite Sherlock's attempts to remove it. "We need to cool you down before something serious happens."

"I'm fine," Sherlock growled. "Go out and play with your harem. I'm sure they all want to kill me by now."

That was a bit mean, but John knew that angry patients often said things they didn't mean when they had someone prodding them.

"I don't care," John said, carefully precise. "They will survive without me for one day. _You_ need to calm down and rest."

"Just _go_," Sherlock whined, writhing slightly on the bed as he spoke. John wondered if he'd have to force him to stay still. "This can't be pleasant for you. Just leave me to my misery."

"I'm worried about you, idiot," John snapped, slightly hurt. "You will have to suffer through my presence."

Leaving now wouldn't fix anything, and watching Sherlock made him feel a little less... helpless. That was part of what doctoring was all about. But more importantly, he needed to feel like he was in control of at least something. Helping the healing process was the only thing he could do.

"Fine." Sherlock lay still finally. And closed his eyes. "But I'm going to sleep."

"Good," John breathed. Sleep was good. It was getting closer to evening anyways. Four thirty in the afternoon. He just had to make sure Sherlock recovered.

X

"He's got the door propped a bit, but he's barely come out," Sarah sighed. "He had supper and that's more or less it. At this point, I'm more worried about John than Sherlock. Compounding his problems by not sleeping wouldn't really be smart."

X

"Fuck him too," Adele said, sharply. "I'm not sure I can take much more of this nonsense. First he's kissing the guy, now he's holed up in his room, like his lover is dying. From what I can tell, the git will be fine."

She frowned, and looked away. "I'm not sure I want to be here, anymore."

X

Sherlock really did sleep. Soundly. Fortunately and unfortunately for John. On one hand, Sherlock was more agreeable of a patient when he was asleep. On the other, now John's panic got to focus inward.

He really didn't want to leave. He _could_, that wasn't the problem. The medical team was perfectly capable of taking care of a heat stroke patient. But this heat stroke patient was Sherlock, and John wanted to be the one to take care of him. It wasn't really fair. He should be out talking to the girls and giving out a rose and finishing off their date. He didn't want to, though, so he didn't.

And he was trying in vain to convince himself that he would do the same for every woman too.

The truth was he would. He would take them, and call off the date and take care of them himself. But he wouldn't feel half as desperate about it. He wouldn't feel this welling panic, and the clenching of his heart. Not for many of the girls.

Maybe if it were Sarah, though.

But that was a problem in itself. He could actually see himself in a future with Sarah. There would be talk of children, and romantic dinners, and a passionate honeymoon. He hadn't really thought about future possibilities in relation to Sherlock. Obviously, he needed to.

And really, John was pretty sure his "I'm not really gay" crisis was over. He didn't have to be gay to like Sherlock. And he did. Really like Sherlock. A lot. But he'd never really thought about this going much further. Somehow, he figured that Sherlock would have left or he would have not been able to picture them as a couple. Sherlock was still here, and - God help him - he could definitely see their relationship going further.

John trailed a hand lightly against Sherlock's cheek. He was cooler now, and John felt okay about tucking the sheet in a bit tighter. Watching him sleep made it hard to remember that this fragile man was also Sherlock.

Sherlock was intelligent, abrasive, and fascinating. And handsome, though he was still mildly shocked with himself for finding another man handsome. He wanted to kiss Sherlock. And date Sherlock. And maybe plan a future. If Sherlock didn't want to do the same, John would be crushed. He had been in control of this very strange foray into love before this. Now he wasn't so sure.

He felt just as strongly about some of the women. That wasn't a doubt. But he had expected that. He hadn't expected _this._ Or anything _else _that Sherlock brought with him

John could walk without a cane, for Christ's sake. Legitimately. He hadn't dragged it with him on the boat, and he didn't really use it anymore except as a security blanket. That was all Sherlock. For one man to do so much to John's psyche after years of war... was astounding. For one man to know a ton of his history from the way he stood and his haircut was fantastic.

And the fact that this one man seemed to like him, and to not be overly friendly with anyone else was incredible.

But John didn't just feel privledged. He didn't look at Sherlock and feel a sense of awe. It was just raw _liking_. He liked the slightly derrogatory conversations, the grumbling determination to not be sick, the shock when John was nice to him. The fact that Sherlock was nice back. Keeping this dynamic alive was important to John. Making sure Sherlock knew that he liked him was _very_ important.

Knowing that Sherlock liked him back would be a relief.

He could deal with all the other repercussions of this fact later. He could deal with the burgeouning sexual attraction, the tugging of his heart strings. He couldn't put away the fact that he was terrified when something happened to Sherlock. Or the fact that he really wanted him to be as serious as he was. Somehow he needed to have this conversation with Sherlock - make sure they were both on the same page, so to speak. That Sherlock liked him too, and could probably go ahead with this. Something had to happen.

Tentatively, John put out his hand and rested it on the other man's forehead, taking in the feeling of the slight physical contact. He stroked back Sherlock's hair, wondering if he could fit all of this into a fifteen minute conversation.

X

John started awake the next morning, still curled up in the chair beside Sherlock's bed. He was pretty rumpled, and fairly achy, but very relieved to hear Sherlock's voice.

"You really didn't have to stay," the consulting detective grumbled. He had put on a fresh shirt and trousers, and looked more or less normal. "I was fine."

John didn't answer. He simply stood up, walked over to where Sherlock was standing and checked his pulse. Steady, strong, and quick, but not too quick. Skin was cool to the touch. Good.

"Once again, I'm fine," Sherlock said, more gently. "Stop worrying so much."

"I'm glad," John answered softly, hand still on Sherlock's wrist. "I'm also glad I stayed."

"John, I'm sure you knew I was going to be fine without having to hover by my bedside all night." Sherlock pulled away and stretched, before rummaging in his bag. "You're going to be sore and tired today for no reason."

"I feel better, though," John admitted. He needed to tell Sherlock how he felt.

"Emotionally, only, I'm sure," Sherlock retorted, not unfriendly in tone. "You worry far too much for a doctor."

"Of course I was worried!" John shot back. "I don't want you to succumb to heat stroke."

He was getting closer. Get your confession out there, John!

"I didn't. I've gotten heat stroke enough times that I'm used to it." That gave him pause.

"You do this often?" John asked, suddenly worried. Terrified almost. Serious heat stroke was _not_ a good thing to get repeatedly.

"Not this seriously, no," Sherlock responded, a little gentler than he normally would. He turned back around and saw just how serious John apparently was, and how worried. Why was he that worried? Sherlock thought maybe some form of reassurance was in order. "But yes. I dress in dark clothes, I tend to avoid the sunlight, and I'm incredibly pale. I also happen to be fairly sensitive to extreme humidity. All of which make me prone to various heat illnesses."

"Then why on earth did you not mention it before we got on the boat?" John rubbed his forehead. He wasn't awake enough for this. "Or borrow some trunks and a water bottle from me?"

"I think I've imposed on you enough. And I don't really like to wear trunks. Or swim, if I can avoid it." The other man turned away almost sharply to avoid his gaze. Was that... embarrassment? Shyness? Sherlock wasn't shy.

"Well, it's done now," John sighed, trying not to over analyze things. "How are you feeling now?"

"Shaky," Sherlock answered, honestly. There wasn't a much better descriptor. "I can manage on my own, though, and I think you need to take Jennifer out on her date."

"I don't want to leave you alone," John admitted, looking Sherlock in the eyes. He could say this. Sherlock seemed surprised at this, enough that he didn't say anything at first. His eyes searched John's. Silence hung in the air, with an undercurrent of...tension. John wasn't sure what to say, or do. Why couldn't John just blurt it all out now and tell him what he really meant?

But Sherlock looked back, and gripped John strongly by the shoulders. His tone was very level when he spoke.

"John, listen. Those women are feeling jilted and nervous, and like they've lost already. I am a threat. A very strange, very real threat, and more so because I'm not like them. You need to reassure them. You need to bring this silly game back into play, and apologize. I can take care of myself, but if you don't take Jennifer on this date, and try to bring things back to normal, they will try to smother me in my sleep. Think of their feelings."

John stood quietly. Sherlock was right. He was being an asshole.

"Promise me you'll drink lots of water and keep cool today." John wasn't going away without some satisfaction.

"I promise," Sherlock intoned, letting go and turning away. "Now, you should go take a shower."

"Yeah, I probably should," John stretched, and paused, and looked back at the consulting detective. He had an opening. He could say it now.

But Sherlock had gone back to rumaging for a book. And John found himself walking back to his own hotel room, off to take a shower.

_John Watson, you are such a coward, _he thought.

X

"None of us know what's going on," Cecelia complained. "I'm not used to being left hanging like this, and I don't like it. John should be more responsible than that. I don't want to deal with someone who can't keep it together in an emergency."

X

"His priorities really are with Sherlock, right now," Lucy sighed. "I had no idea what was going on when they got back, but I can see why John called the date off. He's great. And he'd do absolutely the same thing for any one of us."

She didn't look as pleased as she should, though.

"Not that I'm happy with him spending all night in Sherlock's room," she added, roughly. "That was a little inconsiderate of him. He does still have the rest of us here, and he should think before he does things like that."

X

After his shower, John conferred with Dave, picked up his invitation and went to talk to the women. He figured he needed to apologize and set things right. He wasn't expecting to see Sherlock sitting quietly on a chair in the back of the room, but he was kind of glad to see him. If he felt well enough to be sociable, that was a good sign.

The women had gathered on the couches and were sitting attentively.

"Ah," John stammered. Suddenly, he was embarrassed. He really did owe them an explanation. "I guess I need to apologize for cutting our time short yesterday."

At least a couple faces said "Yes, you really do." Ouch.

"I want you all to know, though, that any form of medical emergency is more important than whatever activity we have planned. That goes for everyone." He felt himself assuming a military stance. He wasn't going to back down on this. Health versus pleasure? Health wins. "I refuse to put anything above someone's health. That's part of being a doctor."

A few of the girls shifted uncomfortably. Good. If they thought that this production was the most important thing, they _should_ be ashamed.

"But I am sorry for worrying you, and I will make it up to you." Sherlock had been right after all, it wasn't fair, and they would eat him alive if he didn't fix it. "We're going to start the rose ceremony early tomorrow. That means that if I didn't get a chance to talk to you on the date, you'll get some extra time with me before I give out roses. So we all have a level playing field again. Is that alright?"

Cecelia looked a bit miffed, but everyone else nodded in agreement. That was the best acceptance he could hope for. His posture relaxed a bit.

"Anyway, I know it's a bit belated, but I've got an invitation to drop off." He passed the letter to Jennifer. "I'll see you in a bit?"

"Of course," she laughed. "I'll get ready."

X

"The invitation actually said 'Let's show our love to the gods,'" She said to the camera, smiling. "Looks like we're going to a temple of some sort. Can't wait."

X

"I can't believe he told us off like that," Cecelia whined. "I mean, talk about rubbing salt in the wound. He could have at least explained why he felt the need to sit in Sherlock's room all night."

X

Anna sighed heavily. "I wish he'd been sitting in my room. It's such a sweet gesture. Watching him hover over someone else like that makes my stomach turn."

X

An hour or so later, and John and Jennifer had managed to make their way out to the ruins of a temple. The whole area was filled with white stone, glistening in the sun. John had made sure to pack a ton of extra water, and was trying to keep them both in the very sparse shade. Was he maybe worrying too much? Yes. But he was damn well going to worry. He didn't know if he could take another day like yesterday.

Jennifer didn't seem to mind. She'd packed up a bunch of water herself, and brought a backpack full of things. Resourceful.

"I'm used to being prepared," Jennifer responded when he asked. "I've got a little boy at home, and if I don't have everything ready, he's the one who suffers."

"You're a single mother?" John asked cautiously. He wasn't sure she was okay with the questioning.

"Yeah. He's three now, and it's not so bad, but it was a hard couple of years alone," she looked worried. "I miss him. He's my everything."

"Who's looking after him?" John was quiet. He didn't think he could understand having to leave something like that behind.

"My parents. They make great babysitters. And Will loves them." She smiled wistfully. "They're better for him than his father, that's for sure."

"Bad relationship?" John was curious. Maybe he shouldn't be but he was. And he felt bad for Jennifer. No one should have to go through parenthood alone.

"Nah, just a complete lack of commitment. The man couldn't keep an appointment if it killed him. My biggest mistake was thinking he'd commit to me if I had a kid with him. He didn't."

Yikes. John wasn't really sure what to say to that.

"Well, it sounds like you've gotten good support from other people," he said. "It's not easy to raise a kid alone."

"Yeah," she said quietly. "But it was worth it."

X

Adele was fuming in a corner. She was still in the common room, but god knows why - she hadn't said anything or looked at anyone the entire time. She apparently wasn't too happy with the current situation.

Mind you, Sherlock was too busy to really care. He had been swarmed, and he had to fend them off. Somehow, his still-slightly-ill self wasn't really in the mood for this. Karen and Emily had been asking him how he felt, while Laura hovered a little ways off. He had no idea why she seemed so concerned. She could have had an absolute monopoly on the remote. After a few slightly grumpy answers, she had moved to her traditional spot on the couch, though, and gone looking for a soap opera in English.

Karen and Emily weren't so accommodating.

"Oh, stop," Emily said. "You don't have to be nasty about it."

"I'm not being nasty. I'm being direct. Please stop trying to patronize me." Sherlock was _trying_ to bury himself in a book. Why were people so fucking persistent? He was fine, he had said so a hundred times and he didn't know what else they wanted from him.

"Leave him alone, Emily," Karen sighed. "If he's going to be difficult, he's probably fine."

"I _am_ fine." Sherlock noted. "And trying to read."

"Maybe you can try and tell us why John spent the night in your room?" Cecelia asked coldly, sidling up to join the conversation. She obviously was trying to pretend she was gossiping. "What's going on with _you_ two?"

She winked, but it didn't balance out the hostility in her body language, and the subtle bite in her tone. Someone was jealous. So this is the real reason why these girls weren't going to leave him alone.

"Nothing that I know of," Sherlock responded sharply. He really was never in the mood for this. "John was apparently worried."

"Oh really," Cecelia intoned, flatly. She was still pretending to be his friend. "He certainly went above and beyond what he had to."

"He sat and slept in a chair." Seriously, he had. As far as Sherlock was aware John hadn't budged all night. "It's nothing seedy, nor is it anything to be worried about. John's honour is still intact."

Cecelia frowned, pretenses dropped. "If you say so."

For fuck's sake - _the door had been open_. If they wanted to monitor John's activities, they could have just looked. Sherlock really had no idea what they thought he had been doing.

X

"I hope he's telling the truth," Cecelia murmured. "I'm not sure I could forgive John if he betrayed us like that."

X

"The. Door. Was. Open." Sherlock growled to the confessional camera. "Nothing happened, and nothing _could_ have happened. I wasn't exactly healthy or completely coherent, and neither of us bothered to close the door. Insecurity is definitely showing."

X

Jennifer settled down to a beautiful dinner among the ruins. The sun was setting, and everything looked perfect. John was thrilled at how well the day had gone - touring through the ancient landmarks had been a ton of fun, if mostly uneventful.

Uneventful was good at this point. That meant nothing bad had happened.

They had spent most of the afternoon talking about little Will, and Jennifer's exes, and a bit about children and families, and that kind of life. It had been nice. Jennifer obviously had a very close family, and loved her child more than anything. John could definitely appreciate that. He kind of hoped he could have a family like that some day.

"This is so gorgeous," Jennifer sighed. "I bet you hear that on every date."

John laughed. He did hear it often. "Yeah, it's hard to avoid. Doesn't make it less beautiful, though."

"Is all the beauty tiring you out?" she asked with a laugh. "It must be exhausting to have to go on all these dates and travel and keep going all the time."

"It's not so bad," John answered. It really wasn't. "I'm getting exercise, and I'm surrounded by beautiful women and beautiful scenery. It's hard to protest that kind of thing."

"True!" She picked at her food a bit. "I guess it's not really a hard life."

"The opposite." John smiled. The conversation had lulled a bit, so he reached out and grabbed the rose off the table. This was an easy choice.

"Jennifer," he said quietly. She looked up from her plate, eyes catching on the rose. "I had a great time today."

"I did, too, John." She was a lot quieter now.

"Good." He handed the rose to her. "Will you accept this rose?"

X

"It really was a good date," John said. "Much more relaxing than yesterday, which is exactly what I needed. I'm just glad Jennifer enjoyed it too."

X

"That was awesome." Jennifer was staring at her rose, softly. "John would make a great dad. I hope he gets a chance to see Will. I think he'd like him."

X

"Sherlock hasn't said much," Adele sighed. "He keeps insisting that there is nothing going on between him and John that we don't know about. He's obviously an idiot. There's something going on between John and _all_ of us. Sherlock is no exception. Spending a night alone together, door open or not, is not okay."

X

"I don't care that much," Amelia complained. "I'm here to win, and Sherlock is just one of the competitors. I can't see how he's doing anything worse than Cecelia or Adele. I just wish they'd all stop making such a fuss."

X

Well, that had been fun. By the time Jennifer had made her way back, slightly dazed from her date, Sherlock was about to explode. Not only had he been half-interrogated about John and himself, and their apparent torrid, sex-filled, love affair, but he also hadn't been able to do much. He had promised John that he wouldn't strain himself, and if nothing else, he was a man of his word.

He didn't feel that great either. Heat stroke always left him with a general sick feeling, which he couldn't shake for a few days. Part of the recuperation, he supposed.

He also couldn't have nicotine. The elevated heart rate would work very badly with nicotine patches. Not like he hadn't been cutting down since he'd been here. It was always better to hide an addiction in a group setting. But a cigarette, or a nicotine patch, or _something_ would be great right now. Something to calm his nerves, clear his head, and relax him.

He wasn't getting that, though. What he was getting was another check up.

"How're you holding out, Sherlock?" Jennifer asked after she had settled down a bit. "Are the bitches interrogating you?"

"I'm fine," Sherlock responded. He was getting sick of that question. "And so far all the questions have been idiotic. I slept. John slept. We did not sleep together."

She smiled. "Good. Keep that up. We shouldn't be bothering you about being sick."

Sherlock sighed. They shouldn't - but they would. He was just glad Jennifer was sensible. And not frantic, like some of the other sensible girls. It was a nice change from the conspiracy theory.

People thought way too much about sex for his liking.

X

"Sherlock's a trooper," Jennifer confessed. "He's so very stubborn, but it's good for all of us. Sarcasm is much appreciated in this group."

X

After they had gone to bed, there was a knock on his door. Sherlock was awake, fortunately, but he didn't know who was coming to bother him. He just hoped it wasn't a woman with a knife.

Pulling the door open slowly revealed John. A fairly antsy John.

"Ah," the doctor started, shifting from foot to foot, "I just came by to check up on you."

Oh, not this again.

"As I have told every single person today - I. Am. _Fine_." Sherlock just wanted to try and sleep. He was feeling a bit dizzy again.

"Well, I figured," John snapped back, "but I thought it would be a good idea to check."

"You worry inordinately," Sherlock retorted. But he let John into the room. "It's not like I was dying."

"I worry because I like you. A lot." There. It was out there. John had said what he needed to. "I don't want anything to happen to you, and I want to be able to try to get a bit further with this." Relief flooded through him, as he finally formed the words.

"With what?" Sherlock was perplexed, John's relief abruptly turned and ran away. Not quite the reaction John had been going for.

"With... us." There wasn't a better way to phrase that. "I'm interested. In you. Romantically. And I want you to be too. Interested in me, I mean."

Well, that was interesting. Sherlock looked at him very surprised, but didn't say anything right away. His brain was having trouble wrapping around this concept. Romantically interested. In him. That was something utterly new and a bit...terrifying? Whatever it was, he could feel his heart begin to pound in his chest. He had determined long ago that relationships were things that happened to other people, not to him. But still. As John stood there nervously holding his gaze, he couldn't help but wonder if maybe he had been wrong. If maybe this tangled ball of emotions he'd been feeling in relation to the doctor was something deeper than it seemed. He had kissed him, and Sherlock had never felt that urge when it came to anyone. _That_ he couldn't easily dismiss. Well, fuck.

"Is... is that okay?" John ventured after a second.

"Ah, yes." Sherlock paused for a moment, but continued. "Yes, it is. Why would you feel the need to ask that?" That's right, cover it up with false confidence, Sherlock.

"You don't seem interested." John paused before adding. "In me. Romantically. And you mentioned that this isn't really your area."

"It's not. I'll say it again." Sherlock frowned at John's sad face. "But I'm willing to try with you. You're not like other people." He didn't even know what he was saying, but he was praying it was the right thing for once.

"What do you mean?" John moved over to the chair and sat down heavily. Sherlock took a seat on the bed across from him and curled his legs up.

"I mean this. You don't play subtle, fucked up, mind games. You might be overly cautious about it, but at least you come straight out and tell me." Sherlock leveled a stare at him that felt like it was searing through John's marrow. "You're honest. In every sense of the word. I don't think you understand how rare of a trait that is."

"I'm glad you think so." John wasn't sure how accurate it was, but the fact that Sherlock thought so held a lot of weight. "That means a lot, coming from you."

"You're also far too modest, John." Sherlock sighed. "But I suppose that's why I like you."

John smiled at that. That was a big relief.

"Now that we've gotten the emotions out of the way," he said, more firmly this time, "can I check your pulse?"

Sherlock sighed like he was being killed and thrust his wrist out for John to feel a pulse.

X

The next day was boring. No one had noticed John's check up that night - fortunately for Sherlock. He honestly didn't think he could take another round of that. Most of the girls were far too interested in preening for the rose ceremony, and their extra time. Those who weren't were watching telly, and generally quiet. Sherlock got to read in peace.

Which he couldn't appreciate enough. Quiet reading was _amazing_.

X

"I'm ready," Adele said to the camera. "I've packed. I've thought about it. This is it. I just need to talk to John."

X

The rose ceremony started out quietly. Sherlock basically stood off to one side and listened to the other women gossip while John started his incredibly long conversations. He needed to have extra time with Adele, Amelia, Andrea, Emily and Sarah. Sherlock wasn't sure if he counted. He'd had quite enough alone time with John this weekend. Any more might get him strangled in the dead of night.

"I'm excited," Sarah said with a laugh. "I miss John when I don't get to talk to him."

"We all do," Lucy sighed. She had no right to complain. "It's so hard to get by without him."

Sherlock watched as John pulled Sarah aside first. Somehow he suspected that this would be a long night.

X

"I really have missed him," Sarah sighed. "John's sweet, and it's been awkward trying not to think about him and Sherlock. He's kind of been flaunting it. Not on purpose I'm sure, but nonetheless. It's hard to avoid. And hard not to think about."

X

By the time Adele's conversation had started, John was getting tired. The longer conversations, combined with a few nights of less sleep, was wearing him out. He wasn't sure how long he could keep up appearances.

"Look, John," Adele said as she took her seat, "I'm going to make this quick, but we need to talk."

"About what?" John asked, curious. He didn't realize there had been anything wrong.

"I don't feel comfortable here anymore." She shushed him when he tried to ask why. "Between a few fights with the girls, and the fiasco with you and Sherlock, and our dates in general, I've just hit the end of my rope."

"I'm sorry," John said, still confused. "What can I do to help?"

"Nothing," she sighed, pushing her hair back. "Look, it's not your fault. I just don't feel like we're compatible enough or me to go through all this. I just wanted to say goodbye."

"What?" John asked. Suddenly he felt very awake. "You're leaving?"

"Yeah. I think it's for the best." She shrugged and went to stand up. John stood up with her.

"Alright, so, you're leaving right now?"

"Yeah, I'm packed, and I'm going." She didn't look repentant.

"Oh. Well." John fumbled with his surprise. "Ah, goodbye, then."

That was lame, and he knew it. But what else could he say? Adele smiled anyway.

"Goodbye, John. It was nice to meet you."

He gave her a hug, and she left.

X

"Adele just _left_," Anna said, eyes wide, obviously confused. "She just walked in, said goodbye, and picked up her things. I'm not even sure what happened."

X

"It wasn't John - it was her choice. That's what's getting to all of us," Laura said in shock. "It's been a pretty crazy week. And now this on top of everything? I don't think we know what to think."

X

John had somehow kept going through conversations despite the added piece of drama. He mostly was fending off questions about Adele. Apparently she had made a splash by walking out. Now he had to confirm to everyone that he didn't tell her to leave. Because his ego needed to be bruised a bit more.

Bringing Sherlock out for a conversation was relieving.

"You're not going to ask me about Adele too, are you?" John asked with a laugh as both of them settled down on the couch.

"No. She's been sitting aloof for a few days. Judging by her fight with Laura, and the fact that she reacted so badly to you kissing me, I'm going to say she was pretty insecure already." Sherlock was noting things calmly, comfortably brushing against John's side. Sitting just a little close. Just how John liked it. "She's not very confrontational, either. Rather than deal with the fact that she doesn't like you kissing boys, she found it easier to leave. Not your fault at all."

"Well, I'm glad to have that reassurance, at least." John leaned his head back.

"You shouldn't need it. You did nothing wrong." Sherlock gave him a scrutinizing glance, before adding, "And you should probably go to the rose ceremony now if you're that close to exhaustion."

"I'm not that tired." John tried to wave him off.

"You're eyes have dark circles under them, you're acting unnecessarily self-conscious, and you keep leaning your head back and closing your eyes." Sherlock frowned and brushed a hand over his forehead. John basked in the light touch. "You're also fairly warm. I'm the last conversation tonight, and I certainly don't need more reassuring."

Sherlock stood up and grabbed John's arm. Yanking him to a standing position, he straightened John out.

"Let's go, John," Sherlock said, calmly. John grabbed his arm before he could go anywhere.

"What?" Sherlock asked calmly. John just leaned in and kissed him. Hard. Their lips mashed together, and Sherlock felt himself return the affection for a brief moment before John pulled away.

"I just suggested that you not fall asleep before rose ceremony," Sherlock said with a slight smile when they broke apart. "I don't think that much gratitude was necessary."

"This is a thing, now," John said firmly, also smiling. "We both like each other, and it doesn't make sense to keep dancing around the issue. Unless you've changed your mind?"

"No," Sherlock answered. "My mind doesn't change often."

"Good." John turned and headed out. "Let's go then."

X

"Woah, that was short," Cecelia crowed. "I wonder if there's trouble in paradise? Sherlock had the shortest conversation of all of us. And I think that includes Adele!"

X

Dave had sidled up beside John almost instantly. He looked excited, but only falsely so. Ever the persona. There was a pile of roses beside the two of them.

"Ladies, and gent," Dave calmly announced. "As you all know, it was a very eventful week this week. With everything that's been going on, it's no surprise that this evening will be exciting as well. As you all know, Adele has left on her own. That leaves eleven of you.

"Lucy, Jennifer, you have roses already. That means you're safe. As for the rest of you: there are eight roses on this tray. That means one of you will be going home.

"John, when you're ready."

The girls shifted nervously as John stepped up to the tray. Dave had vanished by the time John lifted the first rose.

"Sherlock," he called without hesitation. Sherlock came down and collected his prize, stopping briefly to hug John. "Sherlock, will you accept this rose?"

"No, John, how could you," Sherlock responded with deadpan sarcasm. "Of course, I'm accepting the rose."

John chuckled as Sherlock walked back to his spot and winked. Someone was feeling good.

"Sarah," he called next. He knew who he wanted to keep. Sarah was definitely at the top of that list.

After Sarah had accepted hers, John went through the names quickly. Karen, Laura, Anna, Amelia, Andrea. And Emily.

Cecelia looked shell-shocked.

X

"I can't believe he would do that to me," she cried at the camera. "I want a chance to redeem myself, or to show him how much I love him. I just want him to want me. I just want him to love me."

She sobbed softly.

"I don't know if I'll ever get over him."

X

John sighed heavily as he sunk into bed. He just wanted to sleep. Sherlock was fine, Sherlock liked him, Sarah was still fond of him, and his number of dates was slowly going down. That was relieving right? Everything was going his way.

Adele was gone. That had still surprised him. But it was okay. He had enough women, and he had enough problems. If she didn't want to be there, he was okay with that.

Especially since Sherlock had assured him that it wasn't his fault. That was always a helpful thing to know. John didn't really want to complicate matters further by having to inspect his every move for a while. He was doing alright. This whole thing was alright.

And he'd gotten a rather encouraging letter from Geoff and Paul, which was even better. Apparently his other letter had gotten through. Either that or the producers didn't consider two boys on the front line as threats to their ratings.

Geoff had told him to go for it - Sherlock sounded interesting and London wasn't as homophobic as John's generation thought it was. Paul had agreed, but Paul had also told him to be careful. Apparently Paul thought his heart was going to break in two if the wrong girl rejected him. John hoped he was made of sturdier stuff than that.

But honestly, he wasn't sure.

He read up on the gossip from his corps, and folded the letter back up. He could put it in his suitcase and keep it with him. It was nice to know there were a couple people rooting for him. At the very least he had someone to write to.

Maybe he could clear his thoughts with another letter?

John somehow doubted it, but he started to write one anyway.


	6. Episode 6

Sorry everyone for the very late post! I spent the week sick, and I'm away from home - but I got it done! A lot of thanks to Post Rechinbach for keeping g me on track and helping me work through all the diifculties.

Episode Six

"We can't let you send this," Steve said, very calmly. They had landed in Prague two hours ago, and John was still feeling kind of sick. The plane had been incredibly over-warm, and combined with the change in atmosphere pressure? He was pretty sure everyone else was nauseous too.

And now he had the letter he wrote handed back to him, without ceremony. Unsent.

"Why not?" John asked, a bit frank because of the nausea. "You let me send the last one."

"The last one was early enough that it didn't contain anything that would be considered a major development," Steve said monotonously. He obviously had this piece memorized. "We can't have you leaking important developments, though. It would tank our ratings."

"Fine," John said. He wasn't going to win this fight. "Can I send any letter?"

"We'd rather you don't."

"Alright."

John watched Steve leave, then went to sleep off his disappointment. He really could've used another letter from Paul and Geoff.

X

It really had been a crappy flight. Lucy had thrown up on landing, and a few of the women had slept for a few hours after they got to the hotel. Sherlock had spent the afternoon in his room, letting the sickness pass. Flying was unpleasant enough, but the heat of the cabin and changing pressure had basically shredded his nerves. He'd spent a long time learning how to control any anxiety about being in a tin can hurtling through air, piloted by someone who may be smart or may yell 'Git R Done' before take off, but there were times keeping all that in check took more effort. However, he had recovered from the sickness quickly enough, which was more than many of the women could say. Even when they gathered for the invitation, Lucy still looked green around the edges.

Dave was right on schedule. He flit into the room, invitation in hand.

"Hello, everyone," he said with a smile. He was back in his suit and tie, casual clothes gone. "We've made it to lovely Prague. Are you all ready for the next invitation?"

"Yes," they said in tandem. As expected. Though Sherlock noted that the enthusiasm in the room was somewhat lacking.

"Good. I'll leave this with you, then," Dave said happily. He dropped the invitation on the coffee table and left.

Lucy didn't dive forward, finally giving one of the other girls a chance. Emily reached out calmly and opened the envelope.

"Sherlock," she read with a raised eyebrow, "Let's take a walk through the garden."

Another date so soon? Sherlock wasn't quite sure what to think. John was certainly pushing his luck with the women. Also, he couldn't quite understand why. He liked John, but hadn't they spent enough time together last week? Sherlock guessed being tended to whilst attempting not to vomit wouldn't exactly qualify as quality time, but still. Was it possible that someone actually had that much genuine affection for him?

On that note, he also made a mental reminder to lock his door tonight. Lucy looked like she would stab him.

X

"I cannot _believe_ John chose him to get a second one-on-one," Lucy fumed, looking positively livid. "He has a few girls who haven't even gotten a one-on-one yet, and they're all incredibly nice. Emily? She's sweet. Why not take her?"

She paused and then mimed fainting.

"But, oh no! Sherlock got _heat stroke_, the poor baby. John has to coddle him now because he's such a delicate flower!"

X

"I was surprised," Sarah whispered, confidentially. "But I don't think it's anything to worry about. Sherlock did have a really bad date last time - it's no surprise that John wants to make up for it. Regardless of what I think of Sherlock, _John_ is a good man. I wouldn't expect anything less from him."

X

The night actually had passed surprisingly quickly. Almost everyone had retired for the evening right after the invitation was read. No need for a big fuss when they all just needed to sleep off the last bit of a really, really bad day of travelling. Lucy had been far too sick to stab him, no matter how ill-wishing she had been. Pity. So Sherlock had no real choice but to actually sleep and put whatever blunt instruments he may have arranged carefully by the bed (just in case) away.

When he woke up, he was utterly terrified. This was really happening. He had given up on ever even bothering to _try_ for a relationship years ago. Seriously, no one likes a fucking psychopath, except for maybe other psychopaths or sociopaths. Neither of which was John. By all accounts, Sherlock was considered a bad person, and based on what people had told him and accused him of he had no choice but to agree. He was cold, callous, hated people, and had no interest in social games or pretending to be something he wasn't. The only people who remained around him where those he chose to keep around by manipulation or direct orchestration of façades and personality traits that weren't his. Fuck, he didn't really have any _friends _nor did he want any. He was happy to keep a professional distance and maintain that people were nothing more than annoying parts of his existence that he observed and occasionally profited from. Yes, he liked distance, no one getting close, no one touching him, nothing. That wasn't exactly part of any romantic relationship he could think of.

And now he was... in one? Sort of beginning one? Competing for one? He wasn't even sure. But he was somehow, in some way, emotionally attached to John Watson. That translated to a kind of expected and salient vulnerability. It was terrifying to think of anyone getting beyond the persona he carefully constructed for the benefit of others. No one liked being disillusioned, and he guessed that was why - when he started to let down any kind of barrier between his sense of what was socially acceptable and his real personality - people ran for their pitchforks. Sherlock knew why for the most part. But maybe with John it would be different. Possibly. Last week, when he was in the throes of heat stroke, he hadn't really been able to keep up any façade. He realized that he probably had been mean, belligerent, and, well, himself. John hadn't run away from that?

This was all fucking confusing.

And he thought he liked it.

It hadn't been hard to determine that he liked John a lot, even though he wasn't sure how far that went. But he liked it when John cared for him. He liked that John would fret when everyone else would tell him to shut up and piss off. And he liked kissing John. And all of that added together to create the fact that he was _terrified_ of fucking this up. He wanted to keep this going for as long as possible. Whatever _this _was. It also terrified him that he had no idea how to proceed. What to do. What was expected. Fuck, he'd barely hugged anyone, let alone kissed, or...whatever else. Sherlock was not going to start further down this train of thought. In any case he was determined that he'd try not to disappoint.

At least, until John eventually left him. It was bound to happen - no one stayed with him long. It was just in his nature. He had been okay with that until now.

And it bothered him that he suddenly wasn't.

X

John was waiting for him outside Cathedral in Prague Castle. Sherlock had seen a glance of the gardens they were supposed to be walking in, but the driver hadn't stopped. Instead, he crawled out of the car in front of an imposing gothic structure, with John smiling obliviously in front of it. Sherlock hoped he could get through this date without making John hate him. He'd decided that if this was to go further it was time to let go of the restraint he usually had, in regards to the harder edges of his personality. If John didn't like it, he wouldn't be surprised. And then they could get the rejections over with now instead of having to wait a week.

"How're you feeling?" John asked as he arrived. "Better?"

"I'm feeling fine at the moment, but I must admit I fear for my health," Sherlock intoned. Might as well start with the exceedingly dry sense of humour. "It seems the last few times you've taken me for a date, I've ended up bleeding or half-dead. You're sure you're not out to kill me?"

John laughed, much to Sherlock's relief. It was going well, right?

"I hope you make it through this one without anything terrible happening," John said with a smile. He grabbed Sherlock's hand and started leading him inside. "But now that I've said that, we're jinxed." For the first time, Sherlock paid attention to how his hand felt. It was exceedingly warm and gentle despite his obviously strong grip. John's skin was rough, but he liked it. He liked the sense of texture against his palm. He probably spent far too long contemplating that.

"I, for one, don't plan to let my imagination become a self-fulfilling prophecy," Sherlock responded, happily noting John's absent limp. "Jinxing is only a superstition."

"All the better for the both of us." John turned to grin up at him, still holding his hand. "I hope this is more enjoyable than the boat."

"It will be." Sherlock had no doubt of that. "I was told there would be gardens, but cathedrals are much more to my liking."

"Ah, yeah," John said with a blush. "I couldn't think of anything else to write. The producers wanted me to say 'Let's take a look at the crown jewels' but..."

Sherlock had burst into laughter, and John couldn't help but join in. He hadn't seen Sherlock laugh so genuinely, yet, or with such childish enthusiasm, and it was catching. In a few minutes they had both collapsed against each other, clutching their stomachs by the time they had recovered some dignity, they were panting a bit, big smiles on their faces. John took the opportunity to look into the other man's eyes, and he surprised at how much life there was there. They seemed to light up his whole face with a life that existed just underneath the calm, bordering-on-coldness that Sherlock normally displayed. John couldn't believe that no one else could seem to see that. It drew him in, and made him want more. It made him want to touch him, and kiss him, and just _live _with him.

"I think the girls would have killed you if I'd sent that," John tried to finish, still leaning heavily on Sherlock. Sherlock chuckled.

"I can't help but agree."

X

"Lucy, stop freaking out," Karen said with a sigh from her spot on the couch. "It's just a date. You don't freak out this badly when anyone else gets one."

"No one else gets the kind of treatment Sherlock does," Lucy growled, pacing slowly across the room. "John acts like _he's_ somehow more special than you or me. It's not fair."

"John has been perfectly fair," Karen grumbled. "You're reading too much into it."

"I'm not the only one!"

"I swear to God, I am going to get Emily to start meditation classes." Karen flicked the telly off and stood up. "If we don't all calm down, I am going to choke someone."

X

Meandering through the halls of Prague castle was amazing. The architecture was superb, the hallways gorgeous. And, a hundred times more interestingly, there were tons of tourists. Thank Christ. Sherlock got to exercise some of his atrophying brain cells as he examined people out of the corner of his eye. The producers had decided that the place was big enough for everyone, so Sherlock and John were treated to a first class show of how stupid people often were when placed outside of their familiar environment.

Oh, yes, tourists were hilarious.

"I love this kind of detail work," John was saying as a couple of first class idiots butted in. They had been looking at some gothic detailing on a pillar, when the very loud couple moved in to their left. John immediately went quiet, obviously feeling intruded on.

"I just, like, think that the whole structure is, like, really well made," the blonde woman was saying, her thigh brushing against her male companion's. "It's just such a magnificent, like, work of art. Fauvian architecture is so, like, amazing!"

Did she just say _Fauvian_? As in the art movement headed by Matisse at the beginning of the 20th century, Fauvian? The one that also wasn't remotely a style of architecture? No, Sherlock decided he could not pass up this opportunity.

"Like, really, like," Sherlock said to John, loudly. He immediately got a _look_ from the woman. "I mean it's, like, so perfect. Like." That should either get rid of her, or mortify her enough to shut her the fuck up. Either way it was extremely satisfying as he watched the woman's face contort into something between disgust and embarrassment.

John looked mildly mortified. Was that bad? Well, damn. Making fun of people to their faces wasn't a normal person's idea of fun was it? Shit. Here was the test of being honest. John either liked it or he didn't.

The woman had switched her interjections to "I mean," which was an equally terrible verbal stutter in Sherlock's opinion. However, she had also started to drag her unwilling companion away from them.

"Sherlock," John whispered, a bit shocked. He didn't go anywhere with that.

"Oh, you thought it too," Sherlock tossed out. He'd already fucked up. Might as well roll with the punch. After all it wasn't like he didn't annoy people constantly. "And besides - she stopped?"

John laughed softly at that. Sherlock didn't realize how much that relief it would give him to hear that. He was so incredibly _relieved. _

"True. She did stop." John was smiling. That was good. But he also looked horrified at himself. "It's still not appropriate, though."

"Neither was she," Sherlock retorted. "There's a whole fucking castle to wander through, why did they have to choose right beside us?" It was true. And, fuck, that was aggravating for more people that just him. Even though he hadn't exactly planned on being this... well, he guessed people would refer to it as 'mean' and perhaps 'obnoxious,' it was probably better this way. Tiptoeing around social convention and pretending to be polite and not be bothered by events that clearly would bother everyone but a corpse was not who he was. Sherlock simply didn't have time to put up with blatant stupidity, and if John didn't like that they had reached an impasse.

"So you thought to piss them off enough to make them leave?" John said with a frown.

"You thought it was annoying too. And you laughed." Come on. John was so honest, and this should be no exception. He was certain he had been annoyed, and despite any horrified faces after the fact, he had been amused. "Besides, even her 'friend' didn't like her much. She was trying far too hard for someone who wasn't interested."

"And how do you know that?" John shot, still a bit skeptical, obviously.

"Body language, mostly. She kept twirling her hair and brushing against his thigh, and he didn't reciprocate, or even look at her. He even moved away when she tried to take his hand." Sherlock shrugged. It had been really obvious. He almost felt bad for the guy, if he was indeed capable of feeling bad for anyone, that is.

"How can you see that in other people when you can't see it at all in relation to you?" John asked, a little harsher than normal.

Sherlock could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks. His damn fair complexion would be the death of him.

"It's never the obvious," Sherlock muttered, ashamed. Despite that shame, curiosity prevailed and he pushed it. As embarrassing as it was, he just fucking had to know. "Is it?"

He said it quietly. If John didn't answer, he could maintain the plausible deniability of never having asked anything at all.

"Yes," John responded. "I'm pretty sure Amanda was definitely that obvious."

"I don't know, then." He didn't. It was a horrifying blind spot that he wanted desperately to correct. So far, he had been unsuccessful. Molly had been obvious - and pathetic. 'Refreshing' your lipstick? Really? Anyway, she didn't make much of a challenge, and he had partially orchestrated that to use it to his advantage. Other than that? He probably still wouldn't know that John liked him if not for their direct conversations on the matter.

John smiled sweetly, and patted him on the back. "It's okay, Sherlock. We can't all be perfect."

Oh, but how he wished he was.

X

"I admit I was a little put off by the whole thing," John said to a camera later even though he wasn't really sure that was the right phrase for it. The only thing that really put him off was the fact that he assumed he was a good person and good people probably shouldn't have found that so damn funny. "But it's part of who he is. It's part of his honesty. And he was right - it was annoying. If his worst flaw is that he is obvious about what he dislikes? I think I can live with that."

X

Sherlock had been very _very _hesitant about doing this. But John had started the last kiss, and he felt like it was probably his turn. Sadly, he had to admit that he was just assuming this was how things went, even though he doubted that normal people thought of kissing as a turn-based ritual. It was killing him that he was this fucking nervous. He hadn't really expected that, but he couldn't really help it. The whole thing was just so alien, and he had no idea if what he was doing was right, or 'any good' or whatever way people phrased it. However, he wanted to make sure things kept developing, so he needed to straighten the knots out of his stomach and just fucking do it already before John noticed. They had been talking, and enjoying, and John had even forgiven him for his overt and purposeful social...misstep earlier. There was no reason for him to be so _scared_.

But he'd been fussing for an hour, and he was only now getting the courage to actually try something. They were alone now. His shoulder brushed John's.

"John?" He murmured. When the doctor turned to look at him, he leaned in and pressed their lips together. Briefly, but not briefly, with a very calculated pressure. He didn't want to be too forceful.

John had noticed some kind of growing nervousness with Sherlock in the last hour or so as the detective seemed to almost touch him then pull back. Almost take his hand, then end up just brushing their fingers together. John really didn't understand why he was hesitating. Hadn't they had this conversation? Sherlock knew he liked him. He knew he liked him romantically. It was maddeningly frustrating to have him dance around it. More so because John wanted to be kissed by Sherlock. He found that after he said what he was feeling aloud a few days ago, his feelings had done nothing but slowly intensify to the extent that he threw caution to the wind and actually gave Sherlock a second one-on-one, and to hell what the other women thought. That was kind of...well, frightening for him.

He was beginning to feel very strongly on the issue. Somehow, he had actually managed to develop something very real. And he'd never had this kind of relationship with a man. Or maybe even a woman. He wasn't sure, which was scary in and of itself. He didn't now what he wanted anymore, and that was overwhelming a lot of his thoughts. There was no way to know what to think. Maybe, for once, he just wanted to not have to think.

So, throwing caution to the wind? Sounded like a plan. Besides, Sherlock was being so fidgety, which was driving him insane. What really mattered now was that he felt like he was suddenly in high school all over again.

The women had no problem throwing themselves at him, but Sherlock was reserved to the point that - if it were anyone else - he'd accuse him of being ridiculously coy. What he suspected, but would never have the nerve to ask directly about, was a complete and utter lack of experience. John quickly had to bury that possibility before he started getting nervous too. The point in all this? He craved some physical contact, and maybe that would make Sherlock stop being so fucking awkward and see what the hell he was trying to tell him.

So, when Sherlock kissed him, John surged back against him, pressing deeply, and Sherlock found himself parting his lips and letting John's tongue slip in to his mouth. Wow, this actually felt good, and all at once he could finally understand why people did this. The heat of John's body, the feel of his hands on him, the pure closeness of someone he had affection for. It all made his head swim with a surge of emotions. He could feel his skin begin to become more sensitive, feeling, clamouring for every bit of contact, every bit of pressure. Sherlock didn't know what to do with all this but he kissed back, trying to mimic John's actions, with hands scrabbling for a purchase on John's coat, a feeling of relief as his back thudded against a wall. Support. Why was he shaking? Why was he breathing heavily? Impulsively he wrapped his hands around John's waist, as John slid a hand under his shirt. Across his chest. The roughness of his palm travelling along his bare skin. The sensation made him shudder with how purely _good_ it felt.

And damn if they weren't both getting flushed. He noticed John's breathing had also changed, to the extent that they were both gasping for air. John was also gripping him tightly at the back of his neck pressing him closer, as if he'd never let go. God, he hoped this felt this good for John. He was beginning to struggle not to make embarrassing noises - like gasps. A few more seconds and he might have to hope that the editing team was kind as he felt blood rushing to places that were _definitely_ not his face.

John pulled away, though, obviously flustered himself. They both stood staring into each other's eyes, breathing heavily, just a little to close.

It took a moment before John recovered himself enough to set himself to rights. Sherlock watched as the doctor smoothed his shirt and straighten his collar as well as his jacket. It was soothing, though he was still left questioning what just happened.

"Ah, sorry," John murmured, gazing back at him, now looking embarrassed. "I guess I was a bit excited."

"Do you regret it?" Sherlock asked softly, straightening himself out, knowing he must look like more than a bit of a debauched mess, currently. He quickly did up a shirt button that had popped open, and tried to put his crumpled self back together, running a hand through his hair and pulling his shirt down.

"No! No, not at all."

"Then don't be sorry." Sherlock really hoped that John really didn't regret that, since he had enjoyed it far more than he even thought possible.

Once they had gathered themselves, John reached out and took his hand. They started walking again.

"It's just... You've never started anything," John said quietly. He seemed to be thinking deeply. "Some of the girls basically throw themselves on me, but you barely touch me."

"Well," Sherlock said with a sigh, "I'm not very good with physical contact."

"I noticed," John laughed. He was smiling again. "I like it, though. I don't mind going slowly."

"I think we've just passed the point of 'going slowly,' John." He was pretty sure that point had disappeared very, very far out of view.

"I guess we have."

Neither of them were sure what that would now entail.

X

Sarah's head was lolling in to her book. It had been a long day. Everyone was quiet, everyone was tired, everyone was annoyed. She hadn't wanted to be reading for quite so long and she was tired of it. But Laura had commandeered the telly, and was watching her terrible soap operas, and pretty much everyone else was just avoiding each other...and Lucy who had been fuming for most of the afternoon.

Fortunately, it was almost invitation time. Fifteen more minutes. She just had to hold out long enough for Dave to make his way into the living room, and drop off his slip of paper.

That seemed like so far away.

X

"I'm really looking forward to more time with John," Sarah said sadly. "I do hope it's alone time, but I suppose I'll understand if it's not. I'm sure he likes me. He'll come around soon enough."

X

Dave flourished in to the room fifteen minutes late. It had been quiet, and unpleasant and awkward. Granted, for various reasons. No one was particularly happy to be waiting.

"_Ladies_," he said with his particularly smarmy voice. "Invitation number two has arrived. I trust we're all excited for Prague?"

There were nods.

"Good. Keep up the enthusiasm. We're more than half way through our journey together. I'll leave the invitation with you."

He gently placed the paper in Lucy's hands before disappearing. She immediately read it out loud.

"Sarah, Laura, _Lucy_, Amelia, Karen, Jennifer, and Anna," she called out. "Our love is like a battlefield."

"Oh, this sounds bad," Anna commented, immediately.

"It's a date, it can't be that bad," Emily pointed out. "What's the worst that can happen?"

"Hopefully it's not a museum." Amelia sighed heavily. "I want to actually _do_ something this time."

X

Dinner with Sherlock was interesting. The consulting detective was quiet, but talked when John spoke. And they were both still busy reeling from a very good date. And well, obviously that kiss. John was pleased at least. _Very_ pleased. Sherlock still seemed a bit nervous.

Though John hadn't the faintest clue why. He vaguely wondered if it was the rose. How could Sherlock _not_ think he was getting a rose? Sure, they had a moment of disagreement, but it was hardly the biggest factor. The rest of their time together had been the most engaging time John had had since Paris. And that spoke volumes.

He decided to put whatever lingering fear there was to rest.

"Sherlock?" He asked, snatching the rose off the table. "I had a great time today."

"Good." Sherlock looked a bit relieved already. "I did too."

"Glad to hear it," John said with a laugh. "I think it's time to end the suspense on this."

He placed the rose right in Sherlock's hand.

"Will you accept this rose?"

X

"John likes me," Sherlock said to the camera with an odd satisfaction. He had a rose pinned to his lapel. "He likes _me_, not a construction. This... is a good thing." Sherlock knew he'd phrased that badly, but he had to give the camera something and what he was actually labouring with was far more complex. By the end of that date John was dealing with him in the purest sense without any restraint, and with every bit of inexperienced awkwardness and doubt. And he still wanted to see more of him. On one hand, he wasn't sure he was comfortable with someone getting this close to him.

On the other hand, he was also certain that there was definitely something going on that was beyond his rationality. It was attachment he had already accepted, but that wasn't all. For the first time in his life he was...happy, and it wasn't because of a creative murder spree. He was happy with John Watson and himself, when he was with him.

This was getting dangerous.

X

"I have no clue what we're doing," Laura said calmly. "I just really hope it's not going to hurt."

X

The next day started bright and early. The girls had shuffled into the car and driven straight out of Prague, to a field, on the outskirts, with some makeshift structures in the middle. John was standing among them.

"Hello, everyone!" he called out cheerily. He was dressed in camouflage over-clothes that were splattered with paint. "I hope you came ready for a fight. We're going to have a paintball fight."

"Yes!" Amelia said with a fist pump. Everyone else remained quiet.

"Well, I'm glad at least one of you is excited," John laughed. "There's equipment in the bunker. Suit up, and grab your guns, ladies!"

They all scrambled to get changed on command, though several of them didn't look too happy about it. Anna shuddered a bit as she pulled her over clothes on, but didn't say anything. No one wanted to openly complain about John's choice of activity, but they were definitely thinking it.

_How the hell is paintball romantic?_

John was still waiting patiently when the shuffle out, paintball guns in hand.

"Alright, any of you played before?" Amelia, Lucy, Laura, and - to John's surprise - Sarah, all raised their hands. Well, that made things easier. "Great," John continued, "that will make teams easier. The five of you will form one team, and I'll be on a team with the other three of you."

Karen, Jennifer, and Anna shuffled over to stand beside him, while the other girls clumped together. They all still seemed a bit confused. John knew it was time to explain.

"Basically what we're going to be doing is playing a game of capture the flag. Each team has a flag in their keep, and it's your job to protect that flag, while attempting to steal the other team's flag. The first team to get the opposing team's flag back to their keep wins."

Anna had her hand up. "But why paintball?"

John sighed heavily. This had not been his idea. But the producers had wanted him to show off his military prowess. Which apparently meant battle skills. If he was really lucky, he wouldn't have nightmares tonight, but that chance was slim. Especially since just looking at the camouflage had threatened to make him physically ill. He just hoped he didn't do something scary in front of the women.

"Part of my past is my history at war," he started, his speech rehearsed. "I don't ever want any of you to have to see that kind of lifestyle, but it's hard to understand without having seen it. This is just a simulation - it's meant to be fun - but it almost might give you an idea of what kind of life I've had in the past."

Sarah looked like she was going to cry. John felt pretty bad about that; he didn't want any of the girls to be upset during a date. It was supposed to be fun.

"This is a game, though," he added, trying to be consoling. "It _is_ supposed to be fun, and I'm going to be having fun. So you girls try to as well, okay?"

X

"Oh, poor John," Sarah said quietly, eyes a bit misty. "It must have been awful. I can't imagine what he had to live through."

X

It was almost noon and _nothing_ was going on. He was stuck in a house with Emily, who was studying a textbook quietly in a corner, and Andrea, who had talked to him awkwardly and politely for a moment before turning on the telly. He couldn't even protest her choices in programming. And she would offer him the remote if he tried to complain. So, nothing to entertain him there.

He was happy, but _bored_. And bored was never good.

What the hell was he going to do for hours on end? Let his brain atrophy? He was down to one of his last books, too. Not like it would have held his interest at this particular moment, as his concentration bounced across the room. There _had_ to be something to do or else he was going to go crazy and start a fight just to engage himself. Where the hell was Mycroft when you needed him?

He couldn't believe he'd just thought that.

Often, he wondered why he hadn't brought any of his experiments with him, even just the drugs he absolutely didn't have - if anyone asked.

Oh, right. Those things are illegal.

He screamed inside of his head for several long and agonizing minutes.

X

"Okay," Amelia whispered, having taken charge of the team. "We have to get that flag."

"Well, duh," Lucy retorted. "Can we move away from the obvious?"

The four of them were crouched in their three sided plywood "keep," with their flag squarely pinned to the wall. John's team had a similar structure on the other side, with scattered walls and "buildings" in between, set up to look like a set of ruined houses. They had been given fifteen minutes to plan before the game started.

"Can we all remember some simple hand signals?" Amelia asked, ignoring Lucy. She was trying to keep them co-ordinated. "Stop, all clear, retreat?"

"I think we can manage," Sarah said with a smile. "What's the plan of attack?"

"See the line of buildings on the edge there?" she pointed at a scattered sequence of plywood structures. "We use them for cover. One of us stays here -"

"I will," Laura volunteered. "My sneaking skills are terrible."

"Alright," Amelia agreed. "Laura stays here. The rest of us sneak along the side like we're stealing bases in baseball. One at a time, all in a row. I'll go in front and act as a scout. If I 'die' the person behind me takes over the scout position. All manoeuvres are co-ordinated with hand signals. We get as close as we can, then deploy a distraction."

"Distraction?" Lucy asked. "I could use the trees and slip behind their keep? And fire off a few volleys."

"Great plan," Amelia agreed. "And while you do that, Sarah and I will take the keep from the side, and snipe their guard."

"We keep cover on the way back," Sarah assumed. "Quickly, though, not as slow as coming in?"

"Exactly," Amelia said, happily. "Lucy, you keep up your distraction. Regardless of what happens, just let them think we're still over there while we're heading back."

"Can do," Lucy said. "Let's roll."

X

"Well, Amelia's plan is definitely sound," Laura said calmly. "But I hope she left enough room for tactical maneuvering. It would really suck to have our asses kicked at this. But then again? I would be surprised if John _didn't_ kick our asses."

X

"I was terrified," Anna admitted. "I've heard it's a pretty violent game. I don't really want to get shot. But John promised I wouldn't, so... I hope he's right."

X

Amelia, Sarah, and Lucy were only halfway across when Laura spotted John. Rather than take the edge route he was dodging from structure to structure right down the centre. And he wasn't being very subtle. He was rolling from cover to cover, and generally making a scene of himself. If Laura had been slightly stupider, she wouldn't have believed her luck. As it was, she knew something was up.

There. Karen was subtly moving along the far edge. Quietly, with less show. Laura leveled her gun.

And immediately felt the thud in her chest. _Fuck_. John had pulled his weapon while she was focused on Karen. And damn did those balls of paint hurt.

She was going to have a huge bruise on her collarbone later.

While Laura was settling into her "dead" position, the rest of her team was just reaching the breach point. Lucy had broken off with a mad dash to the trees, aiming blindly into the keep, and firing as many rounds as she could. She was making a hell of a lot of noise, and Jennifer was obviously getting antsy about it. So far she hadn't been hit, though.

Amelia took a look at the rest of the area - no one in sight. John had probably moved everyone else towards their side. Hopefully Laura would hold up. She signaled at Sarah. All clear.

Sarah broke off and took the centre line. The goal was to come up over the keep wall, and surprise Jennifer.

As soon as they hit open air, though, Sarah went down with a shot. Shit - sniper. Amelia broke for cover, a bullet barely missing her leg. Lucy was still making a ton of noise in the woods. What now? She paused to regroup.

And jumped out o her skin when John clapped her on the shoulder.

"Game over, Amelia," he whispered. She watched as Karen dragged their flag into the keep. She had lost.

X

"FUCK," Amelia screamed at the confessional. Her head was in her hands. "_Fuck_. I can't believe I let him get us with a fucking sniper. I feel so damn _stupid_."

X

"I didn't get shot!" Anna cheered. "And I managed to take out Sarah. Honestly, I feel pretty proud of myself."

X

"Oh god, that was terrifying," Jennifer laughed. "I got a bruise from dodging Lucy's bullets. She was _wild_. I'm just glad I had the defense position and not offense. That would have sucked badly."

X

Sherlock was lying on the now-abandoned couch staring at the ceiling. It had been a long, _long_ boring day. He was beginning to wonder if he could strangle himself into unconsciousness, get a hold of a gun for target practice, a dead body, or something just so he didn't have to be awake and this. Fucking. Bored. He knew he couldn't actually do any of those things, but it was damn tempting. Anything would be better than having to sit there and entertain himself for another few hours.

He couldn't even go back to his room before the invitation. This was torture.

X

"That was tons of fun," Lucy said, settling beside John at the dinner table. All the girls had dresses on now - not a speck of camouflage in sight. John's stomach had finally begun to untwist itself.

"It really was," Anna added shyly. "I was surprised."

"Surprised is good, sometimes," John laughed picking up the rose. "And I was surprised too. You girls did well."

A few of them blushed. John was still flattered that his words held so much weight. He really didn't deserve that level of trust.

"Anna," he said calmly. The other women looked disappointed. "You were incredibly nervous. I think it was really great that you could get over that and help our team win. You did a great job. Will you accept this rose?"

"Of course I will," she said to the sighs of a few other girls.

X

"I got the rose!" Anna was obviously really excited. "I mean, everything is worth it if John can appreciate the effort I made. He really understands what it takes for me to do something like that. It's perfect. _He's_ perfect. I think I really am truly in love."

X

John settled down in to the chair beside Sarah's. He had brought her off to a private room for a chat, and seeing the smile on her face - he remembered how much he missed her.

"I've missed you, John," she murmured, her hand on his knee. John knew she had.

"We haven't had a lot of time together, have we?" John asked sadly. He wished he could do more; it almost felt as if he'd been neglecting her. That wasn't on purpose.

"No, but it's alright," Sarah said calmly. She rested her head on his shoulder. "We'll make up for it, I'm sure."

"We definitely will," John assured her. He wasn't supposed to - the producers said it removed suspense. But he couldn't help himself. Sarah deserved some reassurance. "I'll make sure of it."

"I love you, too, John," she said softly. John smiled. He couldn't say it back - he wasn't allowed. But he was really happy to hear it.

He leaned and kissed her, his tongue sliding in to her mouth, and feeling her push back, just as eager as he was. Her hands slid across his shoulders and latched behind his back as she climbed into his lap. His hands dragged across her thin waist, and wrapped around her to pull her close.

When they broke apart, they were both smiling. Sarah sat calmly in his lap, and he felt happy.

Somewhere down the line, he'd become alright with having more than one girlfriend.

Or boyfriend. Suddenly there was more than a twinge of guilt on behalf of Sherlock. The man had opened up so much to him. And here he was kissing another girl. His smile was falling a bit.

Sarah squeezed his shoulder. She could see the guilt on his face. He was sure of it.

"It's alright," she said. "I guess the feeling isn't as great when you're making out with ten different girls."

And Sherlock, John mentally added with a slight wince. He didn't feel bad because he regretted what he had done with Sherlock; a part of him was starting to wonder what exactly he was doing _to _the detective. He wasn't as open as the women were. As awful as it was to be hurting them, he was sure it felt twice as cruel to Sherlock. Not only was he developing a deep relationship, but it was also the detective's first. That made everything worse.

"People keep telling me I should be happy about that," John said with a sigh. Trust Sarah to be alright with his insecurities. "It doesn't feel right. I'm supposed to be choosing a fiancée. I just feel like I'm breaking hearts."

Sarah laughed. "You're a heartbreaker, John Watson. And that's nothing to be ashamed of. We're all adults and we know what we signed up for. We can take it."

"Is that your opinion, or everyone's?" John smiled, though. It felt good to hear that reassurance.

"Well, mine at least. But anyone who's rational would think the same. It's not pleasant, but again, we can take it."

"I do hope so," John said, sadly. "I don't want to hurt anyone."

"It's alright, John," she soothed. "We'll be fine."

X

Dave swept in. Somehow it wasn't as dramatic as normal. Maybe three bored people weren't a great audience? It certainly wasn't a full house.

"I've got the last invitation for Prague," he announced smoothly. "Sherlock, you've already had a date, but Andrea, Emily, you'll _both _want to look at this." He placed it in Sherlock's hands.

"Good luck, ladies," Dave said before leaving. Sherlock immediately passed the envelope over to Emily, who opened it and read.

"Andrea, and Emily," she called out. "Let's see your wild side."

Ah. Two-on-one. That might be interesting, at least in terms of fallout and house politics. For the sake of his sanity, he hoped it was.

X

Amelia sat quietly. She had been somewhat pouty. John wasn't sure what to do about that.

"What's wrong, Amelia?" he asked, quietly. "Are you disappointed in the match?"

"I failed," she spat out, vehemently. "I feel pathetic."

"It's alright," John consoled. "It's not that big of a deal."

"It was to me. It was my own fault." She sighed, and shifted. "But anyway, I suppose we should talk about how our relationship is developing?"

She supposed? What did that mean?

"Well, we don't have to if you don't want to." John wasn't going to force her to talk about anything. She seemed lackluster, not really making eye contact, instead staring into the distance.

"Well, what else would we talk about?" Where had this anger come from? She had been so sweet to him before, and now, suddenly, it was gone. John wasn't sure what to think.

"Sorry," she said when he didn't respond. "I just really hate to lose."

"It's fine," John said quietly. He wasn't sure it was, but it might be. "It's not a great feeling."

"No, it definitely is not."

The subsequent silence was more than a little awkward.

X

"Well, fuck," Amelia said with a frown. "I'm just so disappointed with myself. That rose should have been mine. I'm trying not to be bitter, but it's hard."

She left. And then came back.

"And in case anyone's thinking it - I am _not_ a sore loser."

X

"I'm really not looking forward to this date," Andrea said, looking awkward. "I mean, there's one rose, and two of us. One of us goes home. No second chances. That kind of competition is fierce. And I'm going to have to be pushy if I want to have any chance."

She shifted, and cracked her knuckles.

"I work as a waitress. If there's one thing I know, it's being forceful."

X

The next day, Andrea and Emily found themselves at the entrance to Prague Zoological gardens - the Prague Zoo. John stood happily beside an elephant. This was exciting. At least, he thought it was exciting. How many women got to tour a zoo on an elephant?

"Hello, ladies," he said smoothly. He was starting to sound a bit like Dave. That needed to be fixed. "I hope no one is afraid of elephants."

"Oh my gosh," Emily gasped. She looked absolutely delighted. Andrea didn't seem excited just yet, but she was smiling.

"Wow, that's quite the ride," she said with a wink. "I hope everything lives up to that size."

John blushed furiously, with a bit of confusion mixed in. Andrea had never really been forward before, and he had really respected her for that. The innuendo had caught him off guard.

"Well, the zoo _is_ pretty impressive," he responded. The handler had finished setting up the ramp. There was a seat for three on the elephant's back. "We've got a first class trip, if you're ready?"

"Definitely," Emily replied.

X

Sherlock sighed heavily. With most of the women back, it was slightly more interesting, but still fairly boring. Their descriptions of paintball were... clichéd. John probably wasn't feeling the best, though, after that. Faux battle or not, it was still a battle and if he had a psychosomatic limp, it was more than likely John had a fair amount of PTSD. Sherlock felt bad for him, he'd probably be suffering tonight because of the producers' need to force an asinine reference to his time as a soldier. It disgusted Sherlock that anyone - much less so many people - would dismiss something with that much weight and consequence as an embarrassment that didn't happen. Of course, battle would be traumatizing. One can't avoid being scared of dying when faced with a distinct possibility of mortality. Well, unless they had an unbalanced mental state. _Sherlock_ wasn't afraid of dying, but he also had a complete lack of empathy and certainly wasn't a normal person.

Maybe he should do something nice for John? What could he do that would help with something like this? A distraction?

At least he had finally found something to think about.

X

The day at the zoo was going surprisingly smoothly. So far he hadn't had to bridge the silence or fill in any awkward moments. For now. Emily was acting excited, but Andrea was being... sexual, for lack of a better word. She kept touching him and making jokes. Or winking. The winking was odd. He wasn't really sure what to do with that. Hadn't he already sent Stephanie home?

He was currently spending a bit of time talking to Emily. They each got some of alone time, as per the rules. Of course, John didn't mind. Half of the fun was talking to each of the girls. If he had to deal with the awkward bits and the feelings of guilt, he could at least get the enjoyment of pleasant company. He needed a balance, or he'd lose his mind.

"I've always loved the zoo," Emily was saying, quietly. They were both leaning against the fence outside of the giraffe pen. "There's just something really united about it. There are penguins living right beside giraffes, and... I dunno. It's like a miniature utopian world."

John smiled at that. Emily was always a bit deep, which was nice. Much better than vapid pleasantries. He almost felt stupid beside her.

"I don't think I've ever really thought about it like that," he said. "That's a really good way to describe it."

"Or it's an indication of too much philosophy," Emily replied, with a smile. "Instead of thinking about all the interesting animals, I think about how they create a microcosm. I kind of wish I could have a normal zoo experience."

"I just liked to see penguins," he admitted. "They were my favourite."

"If I'm being honest?" Emily laughed. "I like horses. I'm so boring."

"I think it's my turn for John," Andrea lilted, coming from behind him and moving between him and Emily. She rested her arms on his shoulder. "I need some alone time too."

"Ah..." John started, not really sure what to do. This was kind of rude, wasn't it? He didn't want to offend Andrea, though.

"It's fine," Emily said, suddenly wistful. "Take your time. But I'm going to see the snakes while you're talking."

As he watched Emily leave, Andrea sidled a bit to close and planted a chaste kiss on his lips.

"You and I had better be quick then," she said with a wink. "She might catch us if we're too slow."

"...What?" John was struggled to come out with a better reaction instead of his visceral and intense thought of 'ew.'

"Nevermind." She smiled, and moved back a bit. Thank god. "Just a joke."

X

"I'm not sure if I'm winning or losing. I don't think it matters," Emily said to the camera. "I like spending time with John. It's been fun. He didn't laugh when I talked to him about zoos. That's all I can ask for. If nothing else, I've had a good day."

X

"John's a flustered mess," Andrea laughed. "I've obviously still got it. Maybe I'll even score."

X

By the time dinner came around, John was exhausted. They had set up a brightly coloured tent, with rugs and pillows for them to sit on. The rose sat in the middle, and their food was being delivered to them. Andrea had laid herself out, sprawled on her side, while Emily was sitting with her legs crossed, very much like how she sat while meditating.

Andrea had been continuously touching his leg, and moving in a way that could almost be called writhing. Not quite. But close. John wasn't really comfortable. And almost every interaction with her had been awkward.

"Even dinner is exotic," Emily laughed. "This is a gorgeous set up."

"Not as gorgeous as John," Andrea said with a smile. "We wouldn't be here without him."

"I'm not gorgeous," John said, smiling. "Just lucky. And it really has been a great day."

"So..." Andrea started. She paused a moment to gather herself. "I was just wondering why you chose the two of us for the two-on-one?"

"Oh." Well, that was simple enough. John was prepared for that question. "It's just that I haven't gotten to spend a ton of time with either of you, and I feel very similarly for the both of you. Decisions are getting harder, and it just seemed like a good way to get to know both of you."

"Ah," Andrea said with a sigh. "So, what did you decide?"

She was twirling her hair. John sighed, and reached for the rose.

"Should I end the suspense then?" Both girls nodded. He twirled the rose in his fingers a bit and then handed it to Emily. "Emily, will you accept this rose?"

"Yes," Emily, said, obviously a little shocked. Andrea stood up abruptly. She grabbed her coat and started to stalk out.

"Wait," John said, chasing after her. He didn't want her to leave like this. He didn't want to hurt her. "Andrea, wait."

"What," she snarled, turning on her heel. "What could you say to make this better?"

"I had a great day with you, too," John said, putting his hands on her shoulders. "You're a great woman. I don't want you to think you aren't."

"Alright, great. I'm just not good enough for you?" She sounded mean, but she was starting to tear up.

"I definitely didn't say that." John rubbed her arms a bit while talking. He was trying to be soothing. "It's not that you're not good enough. That's not right at all. I just don't think we'd go much further with this."

She almost slumped. "Was I too forceful?"

John wasn't quite sure how to answer, so he went with the truth. "Maybe, but that isn't what really happened. We're just not that close, and there's no point forcing it. There are lots of guys out there. You need to find the right one, and not try to make the wrong one work."

"You're the wrong one, I take it?"

"Yes," he said softly as he realized that she was crying now. "Come back and finish supper? You can do that at least."

"I'd rather not," she said, shaking him off. "Goodbye, John."

"Goodbye."

X

"Well, fuck." Andrea sighed heavily, her make-up running. She had obviously been crying. "I need to not try so hard. I feel awful now, and I _know_ I fucked that up. John was right to do it, too."

She rubbed at her eyes, and then shook her head violently. It took a moment before she could compose herself.

"I'll be alright. I've been dumped before. Next time, I won't fuck up."

X

"I'm actually surprised," Emily said. Her smile made her more beautiful than usual. "It's a nice surprise though. I feel bad for Andrea, but I'm glad John chose me. I like him a lot. I just hope we can keep this going."

X

John had just barely come through the door before his phone rang. It was his own time, and calls were being screened; he could answer as long as he didn't give away any developments. He sat heavily on the bed, and pressed talk.

"Hello?" John asked, cautiously. He hadn't recognized the number.

"John?" asked a rough, tired sounding voice. "It's Geoff."

"Geoff?" He would have been happier to hear from the boy if he didn't sound so terrible. "What's the occasion?"

A catch in his throat. A sob? No. "It's Paul."

Oh God, no. "What about Paul?"

"He's dead." Geoff's voice had suddenly gone from rough but emotional to completely flat. Dead. "They kept telling me I couldn't call you, but he would have wanted you to be at the funeral."

"What happened?" John had to ask. He didn't want to know, but he had to ask.

"Roadside bomb. Just him and few other guys. Fucking milk run. It shouldn't have been anything, but now he's fucking dead." There was a lot of anger in Geoff's voice. A lot of it, and John really couldn't blame him. He was sitting on a hotel bed in Prague, while these boys were on the battlefield. He was in a bit too much shock to even process this.

"Oh, God. I'm so sorry," he whispered.

"Yeah," Geoff monotoned. "Not your fault."

"When's the funeral? Where?"

"Tomorrow at eleven. At Christchurch, by his mum's place." Geoff paused. "Can you make it?"

"I will do everything I can to be there," John promised. He had no clue if he _could_ get there, but damned if he wasn't going to try.

"Thanks, John," Geoff swallowed. "I really appreciate it."

"Thank you for calling me," John returned.

X

Sherlock had finally decided on tea. It seemed like a logical solution. John liked the stuff, and really, Sherlock didn't know what else to do. Hopefully it had the desired effect. It had been freaking difficult to sneak away from those gaggles of women and manage to elude the camera men. Not as difficult as John probably had it, though, and this was the least he could do for him.

He knocked softly. No response. The door was open though, so he just walked in.

John was crumpled. Or might as well have been. The man had his eyes pushed in to the heel of his hands, elbows on his knees, body curled in on itself. And he was obviously crying. Sherlock had been expecting something, but not this. This wasn't PTSD.

"John?" he asked as gently as he could. John looked up, eyes red. "What happened?"

Sherlock had time to put the tea down and sit down on the bed beside him before John spoke.

"Paul died." He remembered John mentioning Paul. Briefly though. Nothing too specific. Obviously he had missed something. "I now it's clichéd, but he was way too fucking young."

"How old was he?" Talking it through, helped people. Sherlock was _going_ to help, even though he also had little experience at comforting anyone.

"Nineteen." Oh, wow. The kid was quite a bit younger than John, would had to have just joined the military in the last year. "A roadside bomb took him out on one of his first patrols."

"I'm sorry, John." Sherlock sighed, and attempted to shut his brain off and go with instinct on this, tentatively putting his hand on John's back. "Are you going to the funeral?"

"Producers said absolutely not. Apparently the film schedule is more important than a dead soldier." John buried his face back in his hands, gripping just a bit more tightly. Fresh tears escaped from his eyes as he hid them from view. "They also told me that if I tried to leave, they'd find a way to get the police involved."

"Held hostage by your contract?" Sherlock hated that idea. John should be able to go to a funeral, for fuck's sake. He doubted they could actually force him to stay, but god knows what kind of connections these people had, and what lengths they would or wouldn't go to. He pulled John closer to him, knowing he probably couldn't do anything remotely useful right now. All the same, he thought he'd ask. "Is there anything that would help?"

John's laugh was harsh. "Get me to Christchurch by eleven tomorrow so I can go to the damn funeral."

Well. John seemed determined, which made things easier.

"That's not an easy request, but it can definitely be arranged," Sherlock said, forcefully. Suddenly it felt like he was back in his element. "We'll have to leave at about four in the morning, and I suggest you write a fairly detailed note or the producer will have your head. Hell, he might want that anyway."

"You're serious?" John looked so hopeful. It was almost pathetic. Sherlock couldn't help but feel tenderly about it as he reached out with his other hand to grab John's. If he could do this for him, he was damn well going to. John didn't deserve to be treated like this.

"Very." He rubbed John's back. "I can get us there, using everything in my power. But be aware that no one is going to like us for it and there might be some consequences. I'm fine with that, but are you?"

"I don't care," John whispered, leaning into the touch. He seemed to be calming down. "I just want to be able to pay my respects."

"Well, have the tea I brought you and try to sleep for a few hours," Sherlock said, quietly.

"Alright," John said, standing. "Should I set my alarm?"

"No." They'd never get out if someone noticed John acting strangely or heard the alarm in the early morning. "I will come get you. Just leave the door unlocked. Trust me."

John did, so help him.

X

Four in the morning had come with Sherlock quietly waking John and telling him to get dressed. John was ready for it, and Sherlock waited politely while John changed in the bathroom. He'd also brought another cup of tea. John wasn't even sure where Sherlock had gotten tea at four in the morning, but he couldn't have been more grateful for a cuppa. He didn't know what else to do.

"Listen," Sherlock said quietly, before they opened the door, "it took a lot of doing to get out of my room without anyone seeing me. I can't do anything if we get caught on the way out."

"So be quiet, yeah?" John looked very awake for four in the morning. And he felt it too.

"Exactly." Sherlock waved him out the door. Fortunately for the both of them, quiet was easy. Neither of them said anything as they tiptoed through the halls, and out the lobby. It took three minutes to wave down a cab and fifteen to get them to the airport. Before John really understood what he was doing, he and Sherlock were on a plane bound for London, arrival time seven AM.

"You must have been really close to Paul," Sherlock murmured after a few minutes of silence. They were both exhausted, and there were bags under their eyes, but neither was about to sleep. The plane was crowded, full of chatting, and flight attendants trying to control a group of school age kids near the front of the plane.

"Geoff and him used to visit me, when I was hospitalized," John said, sadly. He was done crying, he felt literally wrung out. "They were the only people who really bothered to care when I was stuck there. It made my stay a lot less depressing."

"They must have been good friends if they could convince you to join this shenanigan of a show." Sherlock raised an eyebrow, and settled his shoulder against John's. He had raked his memory for any tidbits about Paul, and that was all he could remember.

"Yeah," John said, wistfully. He leaned in to Sherlock's touch, enjoying the feel of warmth and the comfort of the detective being beside him. "They met me while I was in there. Paul was working on an internship, and Geoff just liked to hang around Paul. Apparently they liked me."

"There's a lot to like." Sherlock was smiling, but then it faded as he turned toward him with a look of utter seriousness. "I'm glad you survived, John."

It was the first time all night that John felt himself smile. Just the barest crack of one, but a smile nonetheless.

"You know," John said quietly. "So am I."

"Good. I wouldn't want you to be...completely depressed over this or think that you need to never feel happy again. The death of other people should let us appreciate what we _do_ have." Sherlock's fingers were tapping gently on the armrest, just a slight fidget.

"You don't believe in mourning, then?" John asked. He'd heard of the position, but never had anyone come out and say it.

"I'm not the type for it, to be honest." Sherlock's fidgeting stilled forcibly. John was curious. Why did he stop moving? He was nervous, but it wasn't about him. Definitely not about him. Was it...the plane? He remembered Sherlock saying something about how he hated planes. Suddenly, John felt guilty for asking this of him, however indirectly. "It's something that happens to all of us eventually. We may as well accept it. It's pointless to stop living because people die. It's a fact of life and you're not going to change it by commiserating the right amount."

"I'm not sure if that's callous or comforting." John sighed and rubbed his forehead. The cold logic really was strangely comforting. It had to happen eventually. At least instant death wasn't the worst way to go. He just felt awful that anyone had to die. Being a doctor was about helping, and watching people die was the worst part. Sherlock's detachment was refreshing in contrast to his constant worry.

"It's probably callous," Sherlock admitted. "But I'm often a callous person." He leaned his head back and closed his eyes momentarily.

"Maybe," John answered, "but I think I like that about you."

"Why on earth would you?"

"Maybe because you don't expect me to."

Sherlock laughed softly and John thought that was the best sound he'd ever heard.

"John Watson, you make no sense."

X

"Where's Sherlock?" Karen asked, loudly, at about nine. "He never sleeps this late."

"Has no one checked on him?" Laura asked, calmly. "It's not like the door is locked."

"And you would know that how?" Karen asked, eyebrow raised slightly. Laura turned a shade of beet red.

"Whatever. I'm checking in on him. Are you coming?" Laura got up and started across the room. Karen met her halfway and followed. They rapped loudly on Sherlock's door.

"Sherlock?" Karen called. "Are you alright?"

No answer.

"Sherlock?" A bit louder. Still nothing.

Laura bit the bullet and pulled the door open, stalking over to the bed. The suspiciously lumpy bed. With no obvious person in it.

Pulling back the covers revealed a pillow with a winking smiley face drawn on it in sharpie. A thoughtful speech bubble simply said "Ha Ha, Gone."

"Well," Karen said loudly, "now he's _trying_ to get Lucy to kill him."

X

John had insisted they get breakfast before showing up at the church. He had lost the battle for a rental car when Sherlock pointed out that the worst thing they could do was leave a paper trail. Sound enough logic, even though they'd probably be back in Prague before anyone had the time to check for a paper trail. John didn't really feel like arguing, though, as long as he could eat something with his third cup of tea in twelve hours.

They had gotten to Christchurch an hour early. Fortunately, there were benches just a bit down the street. They took a seat. John leaned heavily against Sherlock, suddenly feeling the exhaustion. It had been a very long flight and a very long drive, and a very long night in general. Somehow, four hours of sleep hadn't done it for him. He was probably going to try to doze the whole way home.

"A few more hours, John," Sherlock said reassuringly, taking his hand again. John was more than relieved that the detective didn't seem as nervous about physical contact anymore. It was comforting and was doing a lot toward holding him together.

"I know," John answered. He shifted a bit. "I'm glad you came with me."

Sherlock was a bit puzzled with that one. Why wouldn't he? Not only was he finally escaping from boredom, but was he really supposed to drop John off at the airport and say "Good luck! Try not to let the producers kill you!" and then skip off? That lacked some loyalty. He was also sure John would have come with him, if the situations were reversed.

Not that he would want to _go_ to the funeral of anyone he knew. Unless it was Mycroft. And he got to dance on his grave in front of several mourners. "Of course, I did." Sherlock looked at him. "You were expecting otherwise?"

"No, not so much that." John fumbled a bit. He was tired, and a bit upset, and much less so for having Sherlock there. He just wasn't sure how to articulate that. "It's just... more of an adventure maybe? It's nice to forget for a few minutes at a time that I'm going to a nineteen-year-old's funeral. Paul dying is awful. Nothing can make that better. But you got me here, and turned the trip in to something less... bleak."

"Good," Sherlock said, with palpable relief. If he could do that, he was doing what he'd hoped for. Helping John. "If you're feeling terrible though, maybe we'll take our time heading back. You need to take it easy for awhile, and that show can't be easy."

"I'm alright." John laughed. Even when he was tired, his smile was beautiful. Sherlock couldn't quite imagine what he'd done to deserve that. "They're already going to kill us. They'll absolutely decapitate both of us if we miss the rose ceremony."

"Well, no walks in the park for us, then" Sherlock agreed. John had turned his face towards him, and the shorter man was getting closer. "We'll have to enjoy our next half hour or so."

And John's lips met his. Softly, but with pressure. Sherlock kissed back, finding his arm wrapped around John's back, and slowly leaning in. Tongues melding together as John's hand grabbed his collar, holding him close. But slowly. Nothing was rushing. And the sensation was so _incredibly_ deep.

John realized that he had been too eager before and this time he was determined to enjoy this closeness. He cupped Sherlock's face in his hand, feeling his smooth flawless skin under his fingers. He wanted to bury himself in the other man, as Sherlock's hand rested on his knee, his lithe body leaning closer into him. As he was kissing him, it was like everything else melted away into nothing. They weren't on a bench outside of an upcoming funeral. It was all about Sherlock's breath, Sherlock's lips on his, Sherlock's warmth and presence. John thought that right now nothing in the world could be more comforting than this. It was disappointing to have to pull away, but he did, though he still held Sherlock close, not willing to let go. Surprisingly, Sherlock didn't move either, just rested his head against John's shoulder. There was a silence, but it was filled with the pure enjoyment of each other's company, free of roses and competitions.

"John?" asked a rather feeble voice. A rough looking kid of about twenty stood a few feet away, hair close shaven, and eyes red. He was in uniform. Sherlock knew instantly who it was, and tried to squelch any rising embarrassment at having been caught in such an awkward position.

"Geoff?" John asked, jumping to his feet and giving the boy a hug. "How're you holding up?"

"Badly," Geoff said, deflecting the subject. He was really upset, but not enough to fail to notice the man who was now standing beside the doctor. "Who's this?"

"Geoff, this is Sherlock," John said introducing them. Sherlock swallowed his hatred of touching - for John's sake - and offered a quick handshake. "Sherlock, this is Geoff."

"Ah, yeah, I remember you mentioned him in your letter. I figured you'd be alone," Geoff said, obviously trying to fake pleasantries. He wasn't doing a good job. "Is the show over?"

John chuckled. "No, no. Sherlock's still a participant."

"I believe they called me the 'wild card' when they were bribed into keeping me," Sherlock added, trying not to think too hard about that letter. What did John write, exactly? "And somehow I'm still here."

"He's winning then?" Geoff said with a hint of amusement behind the crushing weight of grief.

"Right now? Definitely." John looked at him a bit shyly, but smiling. "No one else has snuck me off the set at four in the morning to come to a good friend's funeral."

"Paul was so excited to see the show." Suddenly the mood dropped even further. John looked heartbroken, and Geoff's eyes were watering again. He really did look like a train wreck. Not a good sign. "I've got to go in and set up."

"Alright," John said, watching him leave. "I'll see you in a few minutes, then."

Sherlock was calm. There had been a lot in that emotional conversation. More than the words. It was always what was outside the words.

"Were they lovers?" he asked, as tactfully as he could. That was a lot worse of a reaction than he had been expecting. Grieving for a close friend is one thing, but Geoff had been labouring under something a lot more intense than that. It was written all over his face, and weaved into everything in his conversation, even in something as subtle as how he said Paul's name. There had been a current of extremely deep attachment there, tempered with maybe some regrets. Either way it was enough that Sherlock would be irresponsible if he didn't bring it to John's attention.

"I don't think so," said John, quietly. "But it's possible."

"You should talk to him." Sherlock wondered how far he go could go and maintain 'sensitivity.' The man had seemed on the brink of suicidal, and he knew that John had every right to tell him that none of this was any of his fucking business, but all the same... he couldn't let it go like this. "Get him to talk to a therapist. He doesn't look well."

"No, he doesn't," John agreed. Something flashed in his eyes. "I'll talk to him."

"Alright. I'll be waiting. Come get me when it's over."

X

It took about two hours before John had gotten free of friends and family. He had tried - really tried - to not spoil anything in terms of the show. He could keep at least that much of his contract. He had no remorse for being, there, though. He needed to be. Sherlock's advice that Geoff should see a therapist was spot on - the boy had broken down crying on him when he mentioned it. There was a bit of convincing to get him to actually go, but he was going. He had promised, and had listened to John when he recommended a couple of people he knew that were in psychiatrics. Something very heavy was lifting off of John's chest.

He spotted Sherlock by a gravestone when he stepped out. Coming up beside him, all he needed to say was, "Thank you."

"For what? I didn't do anything." One day John was going to fix Sherlock's low self-opinion. He had done _everything_. Everything that mattered.

"For getting me here. For telling me to talk to Geoff. For understanding, even though you don't feel the same about funerals."

"It would have been cruel and callous of me not to understand, as well as just plain obtuse. I'm in the minority on this issue. It's other people who can't understand my position."

"Well, I get it," John said, hooking his arm in Sherlock's. "And I'm happy to have you with me."

"Good." Sherlock said, breaking in to a smile. A genuine smile. "I am too."

X

"When we found out Sherlock was missing?" Lucy said loudly to a camera. "We all lost it. I mean, really? Who the hell does that? Is he coming back? Is he just being an asshole? What kind of an idiot would jeopardize their shot at love for this kind of prank?"

X

"The whole place is in an uproar," Jennifer said calmly, "again. One of these days a girl is going to kill him. Just wait."

X

They arrived back on set at half past three. Just enough time to shower, change and head to the rose ceremony. Mind you, they were accosted as soon as they walked in to the hotel lobby. Shuffled into an elevator, and they were brought face-to-face with one enraged producer.

"I left you a note," John said calmly. Sherlock stood stiffly behind him, hands shoved in to his coat pockets. "You knew where we were, when we were coming back, and why we left. I'm here. We're on time. What's done is now done."

"Are you satisfied then?" Steve growled, showing emotion for once. His face was turning red. "You do realize we're going to have to eliminate Sherlock because of this."

He cast a glare to the man in question, but Sherlock just shrugged. That just made the producer angrier.

"What? Absolutely not," John spat. He wasn't going to let them punish Sherlock for this. "It was my fault. He is not going to suffer because of that."

"He broke his contract," Steve said, getting calmer. "That means elimination."

"I broke my contract."

"We can't do a show without you." Sherlock just stood in silence. He had already accepted his fate. He didn't have an option.

"No," John said shortly. "If you throw Sherlock out for this, I'm leaving too."

Sherlock and Steve both looked at him sharply. Really? John would go through that kind of length to save him?

"What?" Steve said, a little too loudly. "Why?"

"Because it's not his fault."

Silence.

"Fine." Steve stomped out. "But you had better be fucking ready in ten minutes. Sherlock, get to your room."

X

As Sherlock left, John couldn't help but feel sorry for him. After all, he never really seemed to want this much attention, but here it was again and there was no way the women weren't going to hate him for this.

And John was furious about that fact. Between the producers and the women, there was a lot of unfair hatred of Sherlock. The man didn't deserve this, and wasn't right. He had jokingly asked Sherlock to take him to the funeral, and Sherlock had him on a flight a few hours later, no questions asked. He'd never really had someone do something so...huge for him before, and with no thoughts as to what it could do for Sherlock himself. John had been confused when the detective mentioned consequences. He'd never dreamed they'd want to eliminate Sherlock. He'd expected yelling, not a complete meltdown on the producer's part.

He knew he'd have to talk to all the women and set everything straight about what happened and what didn't. And he was more than willing to do that, after all that Sherlock had done for him.

X

"What the hell happened to you?" Karen screeched nearly in his ear. Sherlock couldn't tell whether that was concern or anger or some weird hybrid of both emotions together. Either way, he figured he should give some kind of answer.

"I had business to take care of." That was generic enough. He probably would have decided on a more intricate lie if he had more time, but John had surprised him by fighting for him to stay and he hadn't really gotten over that shock.

"_What _business?" Now Laura was joining in while Sarah, and Amelia just looked on. Emily and the others were trying to seem like they weren't eavesdropping on the couch.

"The kind that means you have to suddenly disappear for a few hours." Sherlock switched over to mean, hoping he could wriggle his way out of this verbally by giving frustrating vague answers. It should work, as long as the producers and John kept their mouths shut.

"Umm, I have to talk to you all before one on one time."

FUCK. Sherlock hadn't noticed John come in and take a central position in the room, he'd been too busy trying to placate squealing women. Was he sure that the cracks in the floorboards weren't big enough to slip through?

"I know you're wondering where Sherlock was today, and I thought I should clear that up before you all jumped on him." John was very considerate, but Sherlock wished that just this once he could be just a little less so. "He was with me, on personal business that I needed his professional opinion for." John, that also didn't make any sense. Could we come up with a _good_ lie next time? "Nothing else happened, and trust me, this is still a fair game. It was a technical thing. So let's get back to the reason why we're all here."

John took one of the girls aside, leaving a blanket of silence over the room. Sherlock knew none of them would believe that, no one could be that fucking gullible.

"You had to help him with business? I thought you were a detective?" Laura asked, confused.

"_Consulting_ detective," he corrected without even thinking, "John had a legal question and someone he wanted me to talk to. That's really all it was. He just wasn't sure that would be okay with the production team. We were supposed to get back before anyone noticed we were gone." That sounded good. But would it be enough?

"That's weird, but I guess it does make sense. John's always cares more about helping other people than how it will look." Emily chimed in from the couch. "You must be good at your job, Sherlock."

"I try to be."

Thank god for idiots.

X

"Do they really think we're idiots?" Karen said to the camera. "They had some outside alone time, it's happened before. They didn't have to make up a huge story. I'd be mad, but I trust John, and if he's kept this show going it must be for a reason. I still think these girls are freaking out over nothing."

X

John had felt pretty bad about not giving the girls the truth, but he knew the producers wouldn't want him to mention where he'd really been and how personal it was. Besides it _was_ still a fair game and that's all they needed to know.

As he talked to Sarah, he began to wonder if he even believed himself in that regard.

"It wasn't really business was it?" She said bluntly, taking his hand. Her eyes were searching his, and it was making him feel terrible. Terrible enough to decide, she at least deserved the truth.

"It was a funeral." He admitted, glad it was out there and he didn't have to lie to at least one person. "They didn't want me to go, and well, Sherlock got me there."

Sarah nodded, and suddenly John was deathly afraid she'd get up, pack, and go. Of all the women here, she was the one he wanted desperately to understand, and not leap to conclusions born out of jealousy and anger. Please, let her understand.

"I can see how out of everyone he'd find a way." She smiled and leaned close to him. "I'm glad you got to go, though I'm sorry for your loss. It's always hard to lose someone, let alone have to sneak out to pay your last respects."

Relief flooded through John. He was so fucking grateful for Sarah. Every week that was the prevailing sentiment he took away from every minute he spent time with her. She was never quick to judge, and seemed to care about him and his feelings a lot more than dates and roses. Ready to comfort him, inform him, and reassure him when he needed it.

He kissed her, long and slow and deep, and felt her lean further into his arms. This was so comforting and familiar, and felt so right somehow. He was too tired to really go into those emotions further. John just knew that he absolutely liked Sarah and couldn't imagine her leaving.

X

Amelia sighed, as she sat down.

"Look, John, I'm sorry," she said immediately, sounding slightly put out.

"For what?" John asked with a laugh. He knew they hadn't had a great conversation last time, but he didn't remember anything that required an apology.

"You know," Amelia said vaguely, avoiding his eyes. "We fought, and now I want to make up."

"I don't really remember fighting," John answered, still smiling, "so, you're forgiven."

"You _should_ remember fighting." Amelia was in a bit of a huff. "It makes a couple stronger. We should be forging bonds and getting over things and forgiving each other for meaningful things and getting used to each other. Past the perfect veneers."

John wasn't sure what to say about that. It was a pretty strong view, but he honestly didn't know what she was talking about. Yes, he got the part where every relationship has its rough patches, etc, but he wasn't sure he and Amelia had had one. He wasn't even sure they were having the same conversation.

"Well, I'm certainly not perfect," he said lamely. "So, I'm sorry too? For not getting it."

Amelia put her head in her hands. "Whatever. Forget I said anything."

There were a few awkward moments before she moved. Shifting beside him, she put her hand on his thigh, and peered in to his eyes.

"Why don't you tell me some more of your college stories?" she asked, sweetly.

John struggled to remember if he'd ever even told her one.

X

Unfortunately for the doctor, his other conversations had not gone as smoothly and he felt himself doing a lot of explaining and reassuring and less relationship developing. He was relieved when he got to the end of the women, and was distinctly looking forward to Sherlock's time when Dave appeared.

"What?" John started, but Dave waved for him to get up and follow him toward the rose ceremony area.

"The producer thought that Sherlock has had enough alone time over the past few hours. We need to save this show, and make sure it's clear you're not gay."

That didn't sit well. Sherlock was right. The production clearly hadn't banked on him as a serious contestant, nor had they expected him to cause this much trouble or stay this long. John couldn't even come back with "yes, I am gay" because he still wasn't. Not really. He was attracted to Sherlock, not men in general. Of that he was sure. He was okay with doing things with Sherlock, however he still wasn't sure how far that would go in terms of physicality. He wasn't really sure of anything on that front at the moment, despite how fast they were apparently moving.

All that aside, he was still insulted, both for Sherlock and himself.

"But Sherlock's a participant and is entitled to the time. It's not his fault I left."

"You really shouldn't be anal about rules if you're going to keep breaking them." Dave basically shoved him into the room where everyone else had gathered. He'd guessed they'd also had a look at the tapes and saw what he'd said to Sarah on the group date. In that instant he wanted to say fuck it and leave. Nothing was worth this.

Then he laid eyes on Sherlock in the back row, and Sarah standing next to him, and knew he couldn't.

"Ladies," Dave's anger had retreated back into his usual smarmy persona, "let's get started. Sherlock, Anna, and Emily, you're safe. That leaves only three roses up for grabs. Three of you _will_ be going home tonight. John, when you're ready." He stepped out and left John to call out the names.

"Sarah," John started. That choice was easy. She walked over to him slowly and waited with a smile. "Will you accept this rose?"  
>"Of course, John." Sarah kissed him on the cheek before she took the flower. "Always."<br>John watched her go back to the line with a smile on his face.

Lucy. Laura. And Karen. That left Jennifer and Amelia. Jennifer looked absolutely shattered, and John wasn't sure he could feel alright about that decision. She was such a wonderful woman. He just couldn't picture himself marrying her. She needed a more responsible parent, and he wasn't quite ready yet. Eventually, but not yet.

He hugged her gently as she whispered he goodbyes.

Amelia, on the other hand, was acting like a child. She pushed roughly past the other women, and stomped towards him. As she stopped directly in front of him, he winced. It almost felt like she was going to slap him.

"You're a jerk," she spat. And then left. Stomping.

The women all seemed shocked. Sherlock laughed in the back row, obviously finding the woman hilarious, and John found himself smiling in spite of himself.

X

"I really wish he'd been the one," Jennifer said, tears just starting to drip down her cheeks. "I wanted him to meet Will and my mom - they would have loved him. I've just... got to keep looking, I guess."

X

"What a bastard," Amelia said to the camera outside, arms crossed, and foot tapping at the ground absently. "I apologized. I tried to fix it. He just doesn't get it. And fuck it, I'll find someone who does."

X

John got to his room at the usual 3 o'clock in the morning, but it felt like so much later. Had he really been up nearly twenty-four hours? Changing his clothes, he was determined that tonight he would get right to sleep. But as soon as his head hit the pillow he had the grim realization that it just wasn't going to happen.

Paul's face haunted him. Talking to him before he left the hospital, he never would have thought that a few weeks later he'd be seeing him in a casket. Bits of his own nightmares came back but with Paul screaming instead of him. Paul dying over and over by bombs, bullets, landmines, everything and anything. Ripped apart, and a broken heap. Nineteen-years-old, and nothing to show for it but a blood smear in the fucking desert.

If it wasn't guilt about Paul, it was guilt about Sarah...or Sherlock. He wasn't even sure at this point. They meant a lot to him, both of them, and that was going to start being a problem in the next month, he had a sinking feeling. No matter what Sarah had said, he didn't want to break hearts and be fine with it. Especially when the connections in question ran this deep.

He knew that he needed to resolve all of this, and he needed to do it for everyone's benefit but he somehow knew it wasn't as easy as that. Sherlock was Sherlock. Sarah was Sarah. It wasn't like this was a grocery store and he was comparing one soup tin with another. That made him feel instantly and devastatingly more guilty. Fuck, this was ridiculous, and he didn't want to touch and kiss and feel so incredibly strongly about it. He wanted to just know. Know what he was doing, who he liked the most, who he wanted to try spending the rest of his life with. He didn't know what he was going to do in three weeks when the producers told him to sleep with a few different people. It just wasn't alright to do things this way.

One person, one significant other. That's how it was suppose to work and John wanted to go back to that. And he couldn't, because he didn't want to lose both Sherlock _and_ Sarah when he lost his contract. The producers had him.

And the thought always going through the back of this mind was very simple and very clear. He was supposed to be picking a fiancée - or fiancé - in four weeks.

Shit.


	7. Episode 7

Episode Seven

Sherlock was surprised at how not sweltering Rome was. Which was good, since all of them were being forced to stand outside in the heat. It was amazing how quickly producers can forget about things like heat stroke.

As soon as they had got to the hotel, they were told to drop their bags and meet outside in the pool area. The women had abruptly donned bikinis and got ready for some 'hot tubbing.' Sherlock was the only one that wasn't lounging around scantily clad when Dave and John appeared. He had decided that scalding hot water, lack of clothing, and idle gossip were not things he was in the mood for. No, Sherlock knew that his fragile state of calm would not survive any contact with water.

John was hovering slightly behind Dave, who was giving them all quite the lecture about the current episode. They all technically knew what was happening, but the seven of them had to stand there and pretend to be surprised at the news.

"As you all know, next week four of you will be bringing John home to meet your families. Because this is such an important step in any relationship, John will be extra careful in his choices and each of _you_ will have to make sure you're ready to take this step. There won't be any roses given out on one-on-one dates. Everyone gets an equal chance, but for some of you it is also the last chance."

Sherlock wasn't impressed. It was a three-person elimination this week, but that's really because they could only fit four "hometown" dates into one episode. There was nothing as meaningful as having to drop more people because of time restraints. Did they all just forget that three people went home last week too? Was it really statistically possible to be surrounded by six people with the collective memory of a goldfish?

John stepped forward, a bit timid. He looked more awkward than normal, running his fingers along the edge of the invitation repeatedly as he spoke.

"We are also having three one-on-one dates, and a group date this week. You'll all get time alone with me, and more of it. Which should make you all happy." He smiled awkwardly, there. He _hoped_ it made them all happy, but he wasn't sure. He held the first invitation out to Sarah. "I know I'm happy."

Sarah waited until John was gone before reading it.

"Sarah," she read with a sigh. "We go together like spaghetti and meatballs."

Ew, terrible pun. Sherlock also felt a strong sense of relief. Not being on the food date was a good thing. He hated food and couldn't cook to save his life.

Possibly literally, on that one. He tended to forget which bottle was vinegar and which one held chemicals for his experiments.

That had skewed the results in a damn lot of experiments too. Which was clearly the more important matter.

X

"I'm very excited to talk to John," Sarah said sweetly. "Next week I want to bring him to meet my family. I want them to know the man that I'm in love with, and I want to be able to show John my family. They're both important to me."

X

"I'm really nervous," Lucy whispered. "I don't overly get along with my family, but I still want John to meet them. They made me who I am, and I want John to understand that. I think he will, as long as he gets a chance to meet them."

X

The sun was shining bright in Rome when John came to pick up Sarah. He was picking up the girls and dropping them back off right at the hotel room, which he was okay with but the women were not. They obviously looked uncomfortable. Sherlock seemed fine. The detective just nodded when he walked through the door to collect his date.

"Where are we going?" Sarah said, linking their arms and leaning her head against John's shoulder as they left. John waved goodbye to everyone on their way out.

"We're off to a very nice kitchen. You'll see," he added as she gave him a skeptical eyebrow. "I think you'll enjoy it."

"Is this a sign that you like dinners cooked for you?" she asked with a laugh. "I'm not a great chef, but I can learn."

John smiled and waved her off. "No, I don't mind cooking. I _did_ have to survive on my own for several years. I just thought it would be fun to do some cooking together."

"That does sound nice." She went quiet and rested against his arm. Times like this felt somewhat like a daydream. They could just sit and enjoy being near each other without having to think about it or put a lot of effort in to the conversation. Someone always said something eventually, but until then, they had a nice relaxing car ride to enjoy.

X

"I really do want to bring him home," Lucy gushed on the couch. Anna was listening. Karen seemed to be half-paying attention. Laura was just ignoring her and Emily was meditating. "I mean, my family is full of assholes, but at least they raised me. It's a big insight into who I am. As a person."

Anna nodded enthusiastically. "I want him to meet my mother. She's really sweet."

"I don't think anyone's parents are going to sway John's decision too far in either direction," Karen added quickly. "He's a smart man. He knows that the person isn't their mother or father. I would hope."

Sherlock hoped too. There was no way John was seeing any of his family if he made it to the next week. Mycroft didn't appear on camera. End of story there. Mummy didn't because neither of her children wanted to expose her to that. And frankly? She ruined their images. She was a slender, older woman, with a love of nature and silly reality television. She didn't understand how she had raised two city-dwelling boys who solved crimes and involved themselves in government conspiracies.

Sherlock grimaced into his book. Even thinking about her was embarrassing.

Plus, with Mycroft and Sherlock's jobs, having an identifiable mother-figure was a liability. A big one. And Mycroft wasn't going to let anyone take his mother as a hostage.

Mind you, the implication was that if Sherlock got caught it was his own damn fault.

He sighed internally, and didn't lift his head from his book. There was no way next week was going to go as the producers planned it. Yet again.

X

Sarah twirled under John's arm as they danced in the kitchen, both laughing gaily. The chef - whose name was Rossi but insisted on being called Pagliacci - had some lively opera playing in the background. And was singing along. He had also insisted on music and Sarah couldn't help but start dancing.

But John was glad she did. Watching her twirl around the kitchen with a little bit of enraptured delight on her face was really amazing. It was like being in their own private world of pasta and opera and happiness. It was cheesy, yes. But John didn't mind that.

As the aria came to a close, Sarah leaned back against the table, across from John and caught her breath. She was breathing heavily and gasping laughter. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

"And now, the dough!" Pagliacci said with a clap. "Back to kneading, my dancing friends. We've got a lot more shaping to do after this. Knead, knead, knead!"

John was delighted with all the energy in this place. They were kneading, each in their own bowl of pasta dough, furiously working the lumps of yellow-ish softness into something manageable.

"After we knead," Pagliacci instructed, "then we press. We're making lasagna, so we use this one."

He pulled out an instrument that looked oddly like a meat grinder. John wasn't about to protest, though. Sarah giggled.

"Madame," Pagliacci waved Sarah over. "You put the dough in the top here. And then turn this crank."

John watched as the two of them started to form noodles. He was doing his best not to be cliché and think of the dough as a metaphor for his relationships. But he was failing. He wanted to think about them. About who to choose and who he wanted to be with and who he could see himself dating in the future. He wanted to see things form. And compare them all to each other.

That wasn't really fair, though. He had lots of comparisons for Sherlock - the consulting detective brought up this same exhilaration, the feeling of flying and falling and putting things together. But this was the first time he had felt it with Sarah. Sarah was comfortable. Calm. Sherlock wasn't. And that wasn't Sarah's fault or Sherlock's, nor did it mean that he felt less for Sarah than Sherlock. They were just different people. And the fact that he had developed strong feelings for both of them really quickly didn't mean that his slower relationships with the other girls weren't as good. They were just different people. And people develop relationships differently.

And Sarah was beautiful and energetic and happy. She always had something to talk about. She was easy-going, and was up for anything. She didn't break rules, and she didn't complain. That was part of her charm. She would work hard and work for what she wanted, but she worked with the rules instead of around them.

She really would make a good wife. And John could love that.

But Sherlock was amazing too. And he was angry, and harsh, and often cruel. He had no respect for authority, no respect for rules, and no desire to care about them beyond what he could and couldn't get away with doing. He wouldn't go along with whatever John planned - John knew that instinctively. But every moment with Sherlock was exhilarating and fresh and unique. And there was something in him that craved exactly what Sherlock was.

And it only took a minute or two of comparing Sherlock and Sarah before John realized how close this was getting to final decisions. He didn't _have_ a decision to make yet. Not for another two weeks. But he was eventually going to have to make it. And he _so_ wasn't ready yet. He needed more information. He needed more time to think. And he needed a real vacation when this was over.

He also needed to be sure that he didn't have something with some of the other girls. It wasn't as strong yet with them, but that didn't mean it wouldn't be, did it?

He didn't know. He probably couldn't know. It was something he'd have to get used too.

Way too much of this production was getting used to things that were unpleasant. But he was going to finish this thing.

He promised Paul. And you don't break a promise to a dead man.

X

"That was amazing," Sarah sighed. Her smile was absolutely dazzling. "John was fantastic, and the date was spectacular. I don't think I've ever had this much fun. Much less while cooking."

X

John and Sarah walked hand in hand quietly, down the streets of Rome. He knew he had to as her. He had to ask everyone. Stupid rules.

"John," she said, quietly, "what's on your mind?"

"Are you ready for me to meet your parents?" he asked, squeezing her hand. "I mean, I know it's a big deal, but, I just want to make sure."

She chuckled lightly. That was reassuring. "I definitely am. I think you'll like my family."

"As long as they like me," John laughed. "I think that's more of the fear."

"They'll like you." She leaned on to his shoulder and gazed up at him. "There's no way they could not."

"As long as you're sure," John said with a sigh.

"Positive."

X

"It really was an amazing day," John said to the camera. "I feel great about it. About the whole thing. I'm very ready to meet Sarah's family next week, I think."

What he didn't say was that every time he thought about being this close to so many people, he felt kind of nauseous.

John Watson was terrified.

X

"Anna," Lucy read, after Dave had dropped off the invitation, "Let's go to the chapel."

It had been a pretty standard day, as far as days went. Lucy had spent the whole time trying to talk about taking John home - with _everyone_. Almost everyone had ignored her. Laura and Sherlock had bickered over the remote. And Sherlock had spent most of the day reading. Again.

The tension was mounting, now, though. There were a few weak congratulations for Anna, as everyone dispersed. Stakes were high - almost half of them were going home this week and there were only two weeks of competition left. The feelings of having to fight for their romantic ties with John weren't pleasant.

Sherlock slipped out to the hallway, heading back to his room, which didn't have an adjoining door to the common room. It was somewhat of a pain. Having to go out to the hallway for all of three feet was a nuisance.

He stopped before he even stepped all the way out of the door. Right there was John, arms wrapped tightly around Sarah, in the middle of a very deep, very passionate kiss. And Sherlock instantly felt his stomach drop to the floor. That was new. Maddeningly. _Sickeningly_. New.

John pulled away, a little flush, but smiling, then caught Sherlock, who was sure he looked like a cadaver.

"Ah, evening, Sherlock," he said. With a blush on his cheeks and a bit of fear in his eyes. But Sherlock couldn't see any of that. All he saw was Sarah's smiling and unrepentant face as she leaned heavily on John's shoulder. Well, this was fucking cute.

"Evening," he said, brushing past them and opening the door to his room. He made sure to close it heavily.

Not quite a slam, but with the heart of one.

X

The camera panned in to John sitting on his bed with his hands pressed in to his forehead. And for the first time in a long time he could actually feel the audience and the shame came slamming into him. Not only did he feel like the biggest asshole in existence, but he also got to be seen as such on national television. And continuously relive this moment every time they broadcast it.

Sarah was fine. She was the one being kissed. But Sherlock didn't seem alright. And John could safely assume the man was furious with him. After all, who wouldn't be? It doesn't matter if they signed up for it or not. John was essentially two-timing - seven-timing? - all of them. They wouldn't be able to help feeling badly about it. Hell, _he_ couldn't help being angry with himself. There was no way that Sherlock was doing fine.

And as he had heard many times, it was one thing to know it was happening; it was completely another to see it going on. To add to that, Sherlock was almost completely inexperienced with emotional matters, according to the detective himself. He had most probably been the first person Sherlock had kissed - ever. And that was daunting, but also a hundred times worse than if he had been experienced. Sherlock probably couldn't handle a romantic rival at this point. Much less one that John actually liked. Like Sarah.

And the worst bit was there was nothing to do about it. His hands were tied, and Sherlock probably wouldn't talk to him right now, anyway. Not that John could blame him for that.

The whole thing was a mess. And he didn't know what to do about it. But he did know _what_ he was going to do.

He was going to pace around and not sleep, thinking about this. Then he was going to pick Anna up in the morning, and take her on her date. And hope Sherlock didn't leave or was willing to talk to him by the time the group date rolled around.

And nothing would be fixed.

Not that he regretted kissing Sarah. He couldn't. Sarah was beautiful and amazing in a completely different way than Sherlock. But he wished that, if he had to do this to them, they at least didn't have to see him do it. He could kiss them both in private, and let them know without knowing.

That would never cause enough drama for the producers, though.

John's sick feeling was coming back.

X

"It seemed like the creepy music started at about eleven," Emily said to the camera, calm as ever. An atonal interlude could be heard in the background. Possibly Schoenberg. "I don't mind, but a lot of the other girls are on edge. Lucy wanted to ask him to stop, but Sarah told her to leave him. I guess he's depressed because of last night. From the sounds of it? I would be too."

X

"Of course I feel bad for Sherlock," Sarah said with a sigh. "It's awful to have to see that kind of thing, regardless of whether or not we already know about it. He's taking it hard, too. Not very well at all, from any perspective."

She winced, sympathetically, but shrugged her shoulders.

"We're all going to have to deal with this fact though. Sherlock needs to have some alone time and work himself through this."

X

"I just want the music to stop," Lucy whined. "It's not _that_ loud, but I'm not a huge fan of classical music, and it's really weird stuff. He can't think without annoying the rest of us?"

She frowned, menacingly.

"It's so sporadic, too. On then off. Then on. Then off. If he doesn't get over this, I'm going to ram the damn thing down his throat."

X

Sherlock didn't bother to sleep. He couldn't. He already knew he couldn't, long before he had settled in to his violin. There wasn't anything he could do that would help at this point. It was just a deep, coursing, ache. Everything hurt by the morning. His chest, his legs, his arms, his head, his neck.

His heart.

And he hadn't even been sure his heart _could_ hurt before this. Or that he had one that wasn't a two-sizes-too-small lump of coal. And to top it off, he was experiencing jealousy for the first time, and he didn't like it. He didn't much like Sarah to begin with - too perfect, not enough depth - but to hate her this passionately for something that was _not her fault_ was irrational. And he was never irrational. One doesn't think with their heart. It doesn't make sense. And to feel himself making judgments based on what he was feeling _bothered_ him.

It bothered him that he'd gotten to this point so damn fast. It'd been what? A month? The violence of these emotions was too much for him to handle. Sherlock had barely even experienced attachment before. What the hell was he supposed to do with the confused bramble of 'maybes' and 'what ifs' that were buzzing through his head? John Watson had really thrown off his thinking. He needed his brain to be in charge again.

But that was all very, very secondary. His primary concern was with his very deep sense of betrayal.

John had been giving him talks for the last two weeks. Coaching him into opening up, telling him that it was alright. Assuring him that he really liked him. Sneaking off to London with him. Sherlock had put a lot on the line for this. Everything, maybe. Fuck, no one got this side of him. He had given John things that he hadn't expected to or thought he would be able to, and he had grown somewhat comfortable. He had attached himself to John, emotionally. And that never happened.

Sherlock was fucking furious at himself for being so fucking stupid. People did not like him, they never did, and he had learned that fucking lesson. Then he promptly threw it all away when this man said that he did. What the hell was wrong with him? Where did his precaution go? Could he really have fallen that hard, that quickly, for someone? He shouldn't trust that easily. He knew better.

And the rub in all of this was the fact that he was probably going to lose to a woman that was a bit too perfect, but had the all important vagina. Because John was heterosexual and Sarah could offer him a very comfortable, very normal life. Sherlock couldn't offer anything comfortable, or normal, or stable, or even completely socially acceptable.

It was impossible for Sherlock to blame John for any of that. Normal people had normal desires. Their fling together was exciting, probably, but not a very good long term arrangement. He hated even thinking the word, "fling," in relation to anything he was involved in. Flings were for incredibly stupid people or teenage girls, not consulting detectives and doctors. But that was what this was about to be. And he really couldn't fault John for liking normality. Sherlock was the abnormal one, after all.

But it had been weeks. Weeks. Weeks of Sherlock getting attached, and watching his asexuality slowly crumble under the gentle pressure called John. Watching himself be alright with John's touches and John's kisses, and finding that he could accept a lot of things if John were the one doing it. An exception to the rule. Finding a friend in a doctor when Sherlock doesn't ever have friends. He wasn't a friend sort of person. And here he was with someone that he could see as a friend and a lover, and that didn't bother him.

No, that might be a lie. It didn't _bother_ him, but it did scare him quite a bit. This kind of vulnerability was new, and he'd never considered that he'd actually be okay with being this...weak.

It was a really big step to make. And now he was emotionally compromised and John was going to leave him in the dirt.

For once he had thought someone that wasn't a complete twat, or crazy, may actually have some kind of attraction for him and lo, it had come back to kick him in the face. Suddenly, all his misgivings about this enterprise were entirely justified. That should have been comforting but it wasn't. Which lead him back to thinking about John, and, fuck, he just wanted it all to go away.

And that long, drawn out circle of thought was eating at him. He hated that he couldn't think of anything else, hated that he was so tied down to this. And hated that he hadn't slept and didn't want to eat, and kind of felt nauseous. And he hated the other women, and he hated himself.

And he hated John.

But he probably loved John, too.

And, fuck it, maybe Beethoven could help. Nothing like music written by a dying man. Maybe if he played enough, he would fall asleep.

But he wasn't going out of his room today. The cameras could live without him.

X

When John picked Anna up, he was thinking about Sherlock. John had slept, but badly. He probably looked like a train wreck that had rolled himself into some sort of presentable state. His hair was neat, his shirt was tucked in, but his eyes had shadows under them, and he probably had mismatched socks on. He hadn't bothered to check.

Anna still smiled when he got her, though. Sherlock was notably absent from the room.

"I am so happy you're taking me out today," Anna said with a shy smile. She was almost stumbling over her words. "I'm just so glad I got alone time with you."

"And why's that?" John asked, with a smile. He was going to try and fake it, damn it. Anna didn't deserve to get the brunt of his internal crisis.

"Because I really want you to meet my parents," she said happily. Secure. "I really think they'd like you. And I think you'd like them."

John steered her down the hallway and out to the car. "Yeah?"

"Dad was in the military. He would love to talk about it with you."

Her shy smile wasn't just nervous, it was also weak. Always weak. Like she was never sure she was allowed to be smiling.

"I'm sure I'd love to talk to him too." John wasn't actually sure. He didn't really want to be reminded about battlefields and death. He was still feeling the pain of losing Paul. Just a stab, every once in a while, to interrupt his very surreal life on camera. The only veteran he wanted to talk to right now was Geoff.

"I hope you get to." Anna slid sideways into the back seat of the car, and John followed. "Where are we going?"

X

"Sherlock?" Laura said, rapping on his door. "Are you alright?"

The violin music didn't stutter, so she knocked louder. "Sherlock?"

A harsh sound, like strings being sawed on started to come out of the room. Some very violent music, a ping, then the thud of something landing hard against the floor or the wall, and a string of swear words. Laura waited, quietly before calling out softly one more time.

"Sherlock? Come on out. You'll feel better if you socialize."

"PISS OFF!" was the hollered response.

X

"I'm worried about him," Laura softly said to the camera. She looked like she was going to cry. "He seems so depressed and angry. I just don't know what to do."

X

Anna and John arrived at the Vatican Museums, much to Anna's delight. They had walked through the gilded and gothic structures, marveling at the architecture, the art, the beauty of the chapels. It was a gorgeous place, and all the talk was of how beautiful were this and that that they saw, and how amazing it was that these things were made by humans. John was happy with this. Vapid conversation was exactly what he needed right then.

It was in the golden light of the gallery of maps that conversation turned to the women. Anna complained about being tired.

"None of us slept too well, though," she was saying, staring up at gorgeous paintings lining the ceiling. "The music kind of kept us from sleeping too deeply."

"Music?" John asked. The producers made sure his room was far enough away from the women that he never knew what was going on unless someone told him. Music was odd, though.

"Sherlock was playing. Some weird, dark music. He didn't stop all night." She yawned, and stretched while she walked towards one of the maps to inspect it. "I guess he's fairly depressed. He wouldn't answer when any of us tried to talk to him either."

Oh, and now John felt worse. Obviously, Sherlock hadn't slept at all. John's six hours of sleep were at least _something_.

"Did you get any sleep?" He tried to sound considerate.

"Well, I literally woke up every hour," Anna laughed. "I can't even exaggerate. He was still playing when six o'clock came around. But I slept alright, in bits and pieces. You kind of expect weird things when you pack all of us together. Especially right now."

"Because of hometown dates?" John already knew that was why.

"Yeah, it makes us nervous. And chatty." The silent "and bitchy" didn't need to be said.

Basically, Sherlock was alone, depressed, exhausted, and probably very hurt. And John hadn't gone to fix it because he assumed he would be yelled at. Great. He was a great person, yeah? Leaving the people he cared about to wallow in misery because he didn't want to cause a scene? Totally normal.

"You think I should talk to Sherlock?" he asked, calmly. He was probably going to anyway.

"Well, it probably wouldn't hurt. It might get the rest of us some sleep."

Anna turned and lead him further down the corridor. She pointed to a new map. "Isn't the style on this one beautiful?"

John nodded, lost in thought.

X

Sherlock had been dragged out for invitations. But he hadn't gotten dressed. He sat in his robe, t-shirt and pajamas, curled into his chair and waited for it to be over, looking awful. And he knew they could tell and he didn't care.

"Sherlock," Lucy read, "_Lucy_, Laura, and Emily! We're in a fight for love."

Excellent. He was even stuck on the group date. And it sounded like a crappy group date. Well, he might as well just sit back and wait to be eliminated. It would be soon.

X

By the time John had dropped Anna off he had decided. Sherlock might leave. Or hate him. Or worse. But he needed to talk to him. Alone, without cameras, and with more honesty than he was allowed to have. Because this whole thing was a sham to the producers but it wasn't to him and he needed to fix it. This was ridiculous and painful and _all John's fault_.

But he couldn't do it now. He'd have to go later on in the night, and hope that he was stealthy enough to get past the sleeping cameramen.

He could do it. He had to.

X

"Our date was fantastic," Anna said with a sigh. "Every date with John is just a perfect, romantic journey. I really am hoping I can take him home."

X

It was three thirty eight. AM. There was really no reason for John to be following the light sound of what he though was a violin version of "Ah, chi mi dice mai" and knocking quietly on Sherlock's door.

The music paused very briefly and then played a very loud "Gli vo' cavare il cor," and thumped into silence. John tapped again on the door. Hurry. He needed to get out of the hallway before someone caught him. When Sherlock opened the door silently, he pushed his way in before the detective had a chance to stop him.

"John," Sherlock stated. Frigid. John wasn't surprised.

"I'm sorry," John blurted, quickly. He just had to say it. "I mean, I'm sorry if you're hurt. I don't want to hurt anyone and I don't want you to be upset -"

"If you didn't want to _upset_ me," Sherlock snarled, "you could have just told me I had no chance of winning."

He stomped over to the bed and flopped down, facing away from John. Instantly unsettling him. John liked to look people in the eyes when he fought with them, or told them anything. It just felt more like they _heard_ him or they could see how honest he was being. Facing away always felt wrong. Like he had no possibility of getting through to them.

"You _do_ have a chance at winning. A very good chance." John shuffled over to the edge of the mattress and sat gently. Perched, maybe was a better word. He wasn't really sure how close he was allowed to be. And Sherlock was bristling with anger. "I like you a lot."

"Well, liking doesn't give me a vagina," Sherlock growled. "It will not make me a woman, and you know it. So stop pretending."

"I'm not pretending," John snapped back. The accusations rubbed raw. "I don't care if you're not a girl. I wouldn't want you to be a girl."

"Because even if I were a girl, I wouldn't give you 2.5 children and a white picket fence." Sherlock curled in on himself, violently. "But you might have to consider a serious relationship in that case. As it stands, you can string me along because you're 'confused.'"

"Sherlock, I am not confused." John glared at his back. He was angry now too. Sherlock was venting but he certainly wasn't listening. Nothing would get solved this way. "You are male, and I don't care about your gender. I like you and I want you to stay and I snuck into your room at four in the morning to tell you so."

Sherlock rolled over then. He was a bit too close to John after that, but he didn't seem to mind, and he was looking John in the eyes.

"Stop it," he said. Quietly. Not angry anymore. Just defeated. "Sarah is the perfect wife. She's pretty much the ideal that you _should_ be looking for. She is the reason they expect you to like participating in this show. Telling me to stay is maladaptive for you and painful for me."

"Liking you is not maladaptive, and I don't want it to be painful." John crossed his arms. He could feel the frown creasing his face. Sherlock was amazing. If liking him was somehow bad for John, John didn't want to hear it. "I know it's going to be painful. I _know_ that. I feel terrible every time I have to pacify one of the women and then send them home later in the week. But that doesn't mean that I want to take the easiest, most normal person home with me.'

"You _should_ want that!" Sherlock got up from the bed in one swift motion. "You should want to stay the hell away from me and everything I am, and take the easy way out!"

"That's not what I want," John snapped, watching Sherlock pace. "I want to see where this relationship goes."

"I'm not sure if you realize this, but I am psychopathic, depressive, and have enemies that may wish to kill you if I win." Sherlock stopped and looked straight at him. "If you somehow do want that, you won't later on."

John stared. He had been in Afghanistan. He had seen _fucked up_, mentally and physically. He studied it. He knew already, and nothing Sherlock said surprised him. That didn't mean he agreed with it.

"Sherlock, I know what I'm getting in to. I'm not stupid."

"Your tiny little brain can't even seem to grasp how fucking monumental this whole relationship is to me; there is no way you can _possibly_ comprehend what kind of horror show you are about to sign up for."

John was standing too close to Sherlock, now. He wasn't sure when he had gotten that close, but there he was. And he was frustrated. Sherlock wasn't hearing him. And was trying to hide how hurt he was behind insults.

"I am an army doctor. I know basic psychology. I have seen firsthand the worst of people. I know what I am getting in to, Sherlock, and I still want to try."

Sherlock snorted. "Thank you for letting me be your experiment."

Oh, that was _it_.

Jon grabbed the detective's collar roughly. "You are _not _an experiment. I fucking _love_ you."

And then they kissed. Roughly, but desperately, tongues in each other's mouths, hands gripping whatever flesh they could find. Sherlock's hands scrabbled against his back, then at his shirt buttons, slowly working his shirt open. His hands had snaked into Sherlock's hair, and under his robe, and at the hem of his t-shirt. He couldn't find a purchase - Sherlock was writhing violently into his touches, reacting harshly to every caress. John wasn't sure he'd ever had a kiss this... intense. His hands were finally on bare flesh, and Sherlock was pressed up against a wall, and John could feel everything reacting. He knew he was getting hard, and he knew it was inappropriate, and he didn't give a damn. Because Sherlock was kissing back just as desperately and just as roughly, and he could damn well feel something on his side too. Between the gasping and suppressed noises - and if that wasn't an erection pressing against John's thigh he was the Queen.

As his hand slide down Sherlock hips, he felt the other man jerk beneath him slightly. And that seemed to bring them out of it. Just long enough to breathe and calm down. They needed to calm down. If they went much further they would both have a lot of explaining to do, and possibly regrets.

John was still reluctant when they pulled apart.

"I love you. Please stop feeling bad about this," John breathed, still husky from kissing. He just hoped Sherlock could understand now. "I don't sneak out at four in the morning for just anyone."

Sherlock almost cracked a smile. But his sharp, beautiful eyes were so quizzically trained on John that the doctor couldn't look away. It was compelling. And John could feel those eyes tug his heartstrings right to his very core.

"I love you," Sherlock returned. Honestly. Raw. "If only for the fact that you ignore everything the producers tell you to do and try to be honest with us."

John laughed, and started to straighten himself out. He could feel his erection subsiding. Thankfully. Sherlock blushed slightly as pulled his shirt back down.

"I couldn't be otherwise," John said. "It hurts you all that I'm indecisive; the least I can do is be honest with you. You especially."

Sherlock pulled his robe closed and walked to the bed. He seemed a lot calmer now. "Why me, especially?"

"You're risking a lot more than the women, I think," John said quietly. He really was worried about Sherlock. He knew Sherlock wasn't used to this sort of thing, and he could sense the vulnerability. John wanted to protect that. "I don't want to break your heart."

Sherlock's eyebrows went up. "If I even have a heart."

"Obviously you do," John snorted. They both smiled. "So, are you going to get some sleep? You're going to need some for tomorrow."

"If that's what the doctor prescribes." Sherlock was being flippant. John didn't appreciate it. Sleep was important, whether Sherlock thought so or not.

"It is. I know what's on the schedule tomorrow and I don't want you passing out." Sherlock's very tiny smile was gratifying. John patted the other man on the shoulder and gave him a peck on the cheek.

"On that note? I have to get some myself. It's almost five."

Sherlock let him out, and somehow John knew that whatever had just happened had fixed it. He wasn't even sure what he had fixed. Their relationship? Sherlock's jealousy? Sherlock's doubts about him?

It didn't matter, though. It was fixed.

X

"Sherlock?" Karen called politely, knocking gently on the door. "It's almost ten. Are you awake?"

No answer. She knocked again.

Nothing. Well. She supposed sleeping like the dead was expected after two nights of being awake.

X

John rolled out of bed at nine on the button, much to his chagrin. It was half-killing him to be sleeping these odd hours. Not that he wasn't used to them, from the army. He just hated being forced to live on five hours of sleep when survival wasn't part of the equation. Why couldn't they have their date mid-afternoon?

He knew that would never happen. At least he'd said no to early morning dates. No sunrises for him.

Mind you, Sherlock was more important than sleeping right, at this point. He could live a cushy sleep-in-until-noon life some other time. Right now he had bigger priorities. They all had to make it through this crazy experience.

He shuffled around his room and tried to make it look like he hadn't been up at odd hours the night before.

X

"Sherlock!" Laura yelled, banging a fist in to his door. Sherlock jumped out of his skin. Shit. It was half past ten, already. "Get your ass up! We're going to leave you here if you don't stop being moody before date time."

"I'm awake," he answered, from behind the door, not bothering to open it. "I'll be out in a minute."

"Good," Laura said, the harshness fading from her voice. "We were worried."

"No need to be concerned. I just overslept." He tried to cover any embarrassment and annoyance. Why did they care so much? It wasn't like he died. If he missed a date, better chances for them. And he knew that some of them still hated him. Lucy, for example. At this point he and Laura had a very firm mutual antagonism. Maybe she wanted to use this probably silly competition - judging by the invitation - to directly compete with him?

It didn't matter now. What mattered is that he still felt like crap and should be able to sleep for another twelve hours in peace. But he needed to get dressed, look presentable, and try to act like a human being rather than an automaton.

And he would get to see John again. Which was both exciting and terrifying. Hopefully he'd have a bit more control over himself this time. There were cameras now.

X

The four of them were shuffled into a car and taken a ways away from the hotel. The driver dropped them off in front of the Coliseum.

"Woah," Laura said, under her breath. "This is a big deal."

Lucy and Emily were gaping upwards, just staring at the architecture. The massive Roman architectural beauty of a war pit. Sherlock, meanwhile, was torn between excitement and displeasure. On one hand, the Coliseum was an amazing place for John to take them. On the other hand, he wasn't too excited about fake gladiator games.

John came out of the entrance, wearing a very typical toga and the laurel leaf circle that was supposed to mark him as an "emperor." Admittedly, John mostly looked silly. But there was a certain thrill to see him running around even this slightly exposed. That was new and interesting. Sherlock had been almost absolutely positive that any "libido" he might have had was dead and buried sometime before puberty, but suddenly it seemed to be struggling back into existence. Especially after last night. This was going to be awkward.

Sherlock could see the edges of John's scar under the shoulder of the toga.

"Hello, champions!" John said in a half-commanding, half-ridiculous tone. "Are you prepared for battle?"

"Yes!" Lucy yelled. The other three just nodded.

"Good! My attendants will show you where your uniforms are. And then, we fight!" He gestured at some staff who were also wearing togas.

Oh no. They were going to try and put him in a loincloth. Sherlock was about to show the producers just how disagreeable he could be.

X

"Honestly, I didn't want this date to be a series of poignant moments," John said to a camera, his laurel leaves sitting crookedly on his head. "I mostly just wanted to do something a little bit silly. Relaxing. So at least they can have fun before the big decisions are made."

John adjusted his toga strap surreptitiously. And smiled.

X

"I'm not sure, how I feel about this," Emily said to a camera, sporting a toga herself, hair now braided. "My classical training is crying, but I think this might be fun. Obviously my need for historical accuracy is cramping my sense of adventure."

X

The four of them stumbled out into the arena, the women wearing togas and Sherlock wearing a loincloth over a pair of pants and a shirt. John was definitely amused. And somewhat disappointed. Sherlock managed to wear long sleeves and pants all the time. He counted himself lucky when he got to see a sliver of wrist or collarbone. He really should have expected the odd clothing combination.

"Alright," he called from his makeshift seat at the edge of the arena. On cue, the staff passed all of them foam swords. "The rules of this competition are: no foul play, spearing someone with your sword means they're dead, and no fist fighting. Last person standing, wins!"

"And the prize?" called Laura. "What do we win?"

"Glory and honour!" John answered, loudly. "And the joy of victory!"

Maybe not a great prize, but there wasn't anything else to give. He wasn't about to promise the rose - the only one that he could give out before the rose ceremony - and he wasn't about to say something like "his love" or "the emperor's hand in marriage" just to make a joke. This was a serious issue and not all of these girls would be here next week. He didn't want to risk giving them false hope.

"Now," he boomed, "begin!"

Lucy immediately jabbed at Emily. Fortunately, Emily was a bit quicker than she was, and dodged. Laura went for Sherlock. Sherlock wasn't surprised somehow, but he also wasn't about to lose. His honour was on the line after all. And his pride. He had some combat training, and they didn't have the advantage this time. This wouldn't be the fight with Tara.

Laura lunged and Sherlock dodged, turning around her sword with his in the air. It came down on her back, which wasn't technically a fatality. She thrust her sword under her arm at him, but he avoided. It was easy to dance around her clumsy attacks, but not as easy to get close to her when she was flailing. Instead, he parried like his life depended on it and pretended to be weakening.

From the corner of his eye he saw Lucy stab Emily. Emily's fake death cry distracted Laura just long enough for him to pierce her heart. Well, push his sword against her chest. She looked surprised for a moment. Just long enough for satisfaction before she went back in to character, clutching her heart and pretending to stagger. As she collapsed, Sherlock faced off with Lucy.

"I'm going to kick your ass," she laughed, swinging blindly at him. He wasn't impressed. Instead of saying anything in return, he simply retreated. A quick skitter backwards where she followed with a lunge. It only took a little bit of force and speed for him to switch directions at the same time as he hit her blade down, leaving him with a clear opening. It had only taken a moment to beat her.

"Well," John said, loudly, as Lucy fell to her knees. "We have a winner!"

Sherlock was too busy feeling cathartic about the whole experience. Somehow, killing his opponents had also released some tension. Like he had beat them emotionally too.

He could only hope that was true.

X

"Wow," Laura said, eyes glazed slightly. "Sherlock is _way_ stronger than he looks. That was really kind of cool."

X

"No, I'm not ashamed I lost," Lucy said with a sigh. "Disappointed but not ashamed. It's not like I lost John's love with the battle. I just lost to Sherlock."

She frowned, and turned slightly away.

"Not like I'm happy about that, though."

X

The staff had set up a tent-and-carpet-and-cushions pavilion for them to sit in. Sherlock ditched his loincloth, but the rest of them stayed in togas. John was eating some of the grapes that were lying around and twirling the rose.

When Sherlock sat down, John offered the flower to him. "Will the victor accept this rose?"

"Of course," Sherlock said with a smirk. He rested the flower on his lap. Lucy looked like she was ready to murder. John hadn't promised him a rose, but he'd gotten one anyway. And that made him smile. Now they each got to talk to John alone about _why_ they wanted him to meet their families. Somehow Sherlock wasn't looking forward to that conversation.

X

"Is everything alright?" John asked Lucy, quietly. They were sitting on a bench a little way form the pavilion. "You seem a bit put off."

"I'm just smarting from losing," Lucy answered with a sigh. "I guess I'm a bit too competitive for my own good."

"Because you didn't get the rose?" John really was trying to feel out who he wanted to keep. He wanted to see them get angry inappropriately or look for signs that they were here for the wrong reasons. He didn't want to keep someone he would regret.

"Well, no," Lucy said, backtracking. She was obviously trying to look her best. Personality-wise. "The security would have been nice, but I just don't really like losing, is all. I never have."

"I don't think any of us really do." John was a bit disappointed. Not getting anything from Lucy on this subject. "Don't feel too bad about it."

"Oh, I won't," Lucy assured him, resting her hand on his knee. "I'm too busy thinking about next week."

"I take it you're ready to take me home?" John wasn't ready, but the girls seemed to be. He just hoped no one's parents would want to kill him for taking their daughters...or son. Visions of the older, fatter Holmes brother danced through his head momentarily before he could stop them.

"Of course I am! I love you, John. So much." John smile and gave her a hug, which was all he could do. He wasn't allowed to say it back. At least, while there was cameras.

Lucy leaned in to kiss him.

X

"I want you to meet my grandfather," Laura cheered. "And my mom. And my sister. It's not a huge family, but the four of us are pretty close. And I think you'll fit in fine."

X

"My dad's a bit of a dictator," Emily said calmly. John instantly felt a bit of fear. "But he's kind of a gentle lion. He'll understand when I talk to him. He's great."

X

"Look, John," Sherlock said calmly. John could feel the nervousness. He really hoped it didn't have anything to do with the previous night. "If you want to see where I live next week, I'd be happy to show you."

"Well, good," John laughed. He wasn't sure why that seemed to be bothering Sherlock. "That's part of the point of hometown dates."

"But it might not be pleasant," Sherlock insisted. He really needed John to understand this point. Sherlock didn't have family. Or friends. Or a real job. He had a network of acquaintances and connections. Nothing like John, and none of them would think he would treat John well. Which was nonsense, but founded on truth. "I don't really have a lot of friends, and they may tell you to stay away from me. And as for family...I'm sure you already can guess."

"Sherlock." John had grabbed his hands and was looking him straight in the eyes. "It's okay. You don't have to have a million friends and people don't have to tell me how amazing you are. I can figure that out for myself."

Sherlock's shoulders sagged a bit. He hated that he needed that reassurance. But he needed that reassurance. There was something more tangible about hearing John say it.

"Thank you, John."

"Not a problem."

X

Karen was not surprised when Dave handed her the last invitation for the week. She was the only one left. As he disappeared out of the room, she opened it and read it aloud for the benefit of the cameras, more so than Sarah and Anna

"Karen," she read with a smile, "Let's relax in the shade."

She had no idea what the date would entail. But that was alright with her.

X

"I feel a bit cheated that Sherlock got the rose," Lucy admitted. "But John is so sweet. I trust him. And I know he'll pick me. He _has_ to feel this too. It's such a strong love."

X

"It was an interesting date," Emily said with a smile. "I enjoyed it, despite everything. And I hope I can do it again sometime."

X

Laura sat in front of the camera, but she didn't actually say anything. After a moment, she pursed her lips and stood up again. She didn't know what to say.

X

The next day, Karen found herself in an olive grove, arm-in-arm with John. They had been strolling around with a basket, picking olives from the low branches and chatting. John knew she was easy to talk to, and he knew she was a good companion for slow afternoon dates.

Plus, olive oil was kind of like wine making, wasn't it? He figured she'd find it familiar.

"These orchards are always so gorgeous," Karen sighed. She looked wistful and happy, which made John happy. "It's just such a beautiful and picturesque way to grow food."

"It is definitely a nice place for a stroll," John agreed. That's why he had chosen this date after all. "And I think it's so important, culturally, I mean, that it doesn't really get proper appreciation compared to other tourist sites."

"It definitely doesn't." Karen smiled brightly and grabbed another handful of olives from a tree. "It kind of reminds me of home. No one appreciates the vineyards when they're picking grapes. But it's such a beautiful place to be, and it produces so much food and wine and celebration. It's home."

John smiled. He wanted to see Karen's home. She sounded so in love with it and so happy when she talked about the vineyard. He wanted to see that. And he wanted to see the family dynamic that could produce someone like her. Honest and blunt with a love of grapes. She was an interesting person. John could appreciate that.

"What's home like for you?" John asked. He needed to know these kinds of things right now.

"It's kind of... mixed." Karen stopped. "I love my dad. And my mom. But it's been strange to be running the vineyard and it's been kind of odd to be the responsible one. My parents are busy with their lives, and I get to be the grown up for the first time. I'm not sure how I feel about it yet, even though it's already been a while."

John nodded. He remembered when his parents had stopped being perfect. It had been a long time ago for him, but it seemed fresher for Karen. It was always a moment that smarted.

"But the actual vineyard and the people and my family? Are all great." Karen was smiling again. She let go of John's arm and motioned to the orchard they were in. "It's about five times the size of this place, and it's beautiful. I really hope I get to show it to you."

John grabbed her hand again, and looked her in the eyes. He hoped the same thing.

X

"I don't know," Laura said quietly. "I really don't know. I want to show John my home. He feels like a childhood friend. Like he should have been there when I was five."

"So stop worrying," Sarah said with a pat on the other girl's knee. Sherlock was trying hard not to listen to any of the girls and _especially_ Sarah. He was failing miserably. "John's a good man. If he feels the same, he'll be honest about it."

"It's not John I'm worried about," Laura admitted. Sherlock could tell that something was weighing her down. And it wasn't her affection for John. Something was on her mind.

"You're just under stress," Sarah reassured when Laura didn't continue. She didn't press, much to the disappointment of Sherlock's curiousity. He hadn't pinpointed what was bothering Laura. All he knew was that it was emotional. Internal conflict of some persuasion. "It's been getting harder for all of us. Just don't doubt yourself. John's smart enough to make the right choices."

"Yeah," Laura said quietly. "I'll shake myself out of it, I guess."

"You will." Sarah was _so_ damn perfect. Sherlock really was finding a passionate hatred for her. He didn't like anyone that was too perfect.

And he was going to be very insistent that it wasn't because of the knot of jealousy that was still in his stomach. He was very good at ignoring his irrational emotions.

X

Karen was giddy when they got to the olive presses.

"I never get to press things by hand anymore!" she squealed. "I've always got to let the workers handle it while I supervise. I used to love crushing grapes when I was a kid."

"Well, they're not grapes, but hopefully it's just as satisfactory?" John had no idea how to work the presses, but Karen obviously had it figured out. He let her work the machines.

"It definitely will be! Just wait." She grabbed his hand and placed it on a crank. "Turn that, and I'll push the olives. If we work as a team we can get more done."

John started to crank.

X

Laura had pulled herself back together by the afternoon. At least mostly. She didn't fight for the remote. She just sat and watched whatever was on. Lucy was wailing around in a nervous daze, and Anna was just being quiet. The only people who seemed calm were Sarah and Emily. Sherlock was exhausted, though, and rapidly running out of concentration and energy. He really need more than a night and few hours to make up for his loss of sleep.

And nothing was going on. At all. Everyone was just worried about whether or not they were going home.

All Sherlock had to do was worry about what he was going to do with John in London. And he had a whole week to worry about that and the churning emotions in his stomach. He didn't have the energy to right now.

In fact, right now? A nap sounded like the best decision he ever made.

X

John dropped Karen off with a bottle of homemade olive oil and a kiss on the cheek. It had been a really good date. Most of them were, now, though. Most. He wasn't entirely sure he knew what he was doing, but he was pretty sure that he had his decisions made.

He mostly just hoped that no one was too broken-hearted. He was making tough choices. But he knew they only got worse from here. He had three eliminations and two weeks to choose a winner. And he wasn't entirely ready yet.

He kind of knew. But then again, he didn't. And next week was supposed to be a big deciding factor.

Hopefully it turned out well, because John was starting to get sick with worry. Literally.

Physical side effects of emotional distress. Great. Just what he needed. Even more pressure. Because dealing with this many relationships wasn't hard enough. Now he also had to find a way to mitigate his stress.

Maybe he should ask Emily for mediation classes. He was told they helped.

X

The rose ceremony was hard. Rather than wait around talking to each woman, John made sure that they went straight to the rose giving. He didn't want to make this last any longer than it needed to. It was going to hurt a few of them, and he could tell they were fraught with worry.

Anna was wringing her hands raw while Dave talked.

"Ladies, it's been a very adventurous week in Rome, and a very important week. This week, John had to decide whose families he would be going to see, and who he would send home." Dave seemed more solemn than usual. Perhaps because it was getting closer to the end. It was now serious business. "Sherlock, you're safe. That leaves six of you remaining, and there are only three roses here. Half of you will be going home tonight."

John swallowed hard. He really was cutting it close to the quick now. There was no second guessing.

"John." Dave gestured at the plate. "When you're ready."

John grabbed the first rose, a little too quickly. He had made his choices. There was no deliberating, but he still felt terrified. At least the first choice would be easy.

"Sarah," he said, breathing in deeply. Sarah glided over to him from her spot in line. He held out the rose. "Will you accept this rose?"

"Yes," she answered with a confident smile and quick peck on his cheek. He could see Sherlock glaring at her like he was plotting murder. Writhing anger on the other man's face was the last remnant of their fight. At least Sherlock didn't seem ready to leave or depressed anymore. He just didn't like Sarah.

John supposed he couldn't blame Sherlock for that.

"Karen," John called next. Karen wasn't a hard choice either. He really did want to meet her family. Maybe she wasn't as close as Sherlock or Sarah, but she was a great person and great to talk to and John enjoyed spending time with her. He held out the rose as she approached. "Will you accept this rose?"

"Of course," she said calmly. She gave him a hug before taking her flower back to the line.

That left Lucy, Emily, Laura, and Anna. And John knew which one he was closest too and got along with best. He did feel terrible for the other three, though. None of these girls deserved this.

"Laura," he said with finality. Lucy's eyes went wide with shock, and Anna crumpled. Emily just looked mildly surprised. They all watched as Laura gave John a watery smile and walked up to get her rose. "Will you accept this rose?"

"I will," she answered softly. It was a strange look that she gave to the flower on her way back, but John wasn't paying attention. Lucy had stomped up to him, seething mad.

"John Watson, you are an asshole." Well, John wasn't quite sure he deserved that, but fair enough. He definitely felt like an asshole. He knew Lucy was attached to him. It was obvious. But he wasn't sure he could reciprocate.

"I'm sorry, Lucy," he said, trying to reach out and hug her.

Her knee connected with his crotch sharply. All he saw was her high heels as he crumpled around his surprised groin and watched her stomp away. Medical staff was there in an instant, asking if he was alright, which was embarrassing. Of course he was alright.

"Just my dignity," John joked, straightening up feebly. "I'm okay."

Anna had left during the commotion, but Emily came up to hug him goodbye. She wrapped her arms around him, gently.

"No hard feelings on my part," she whispered. "Pick a good one, yeah?"

And then she floated away. Almost ethereal in that moment.

But really, John was just glad that she hadn't kneed him too.

X

"What a bastard," Lucy growled. "If he was going to dump me, he could have at least let me know. Jerk thinks he can pull my strings around? Not a chance."

She wiped at her eyes violently, not really crying. Yet.

"Bastard. You bastard, John," she whispered.

X

"I saw it coming," Emily said, all her Zen still in place. "I could cry about it, but it's not worth it. There are other guys, and honestly? John liked me, but not as much as he likes Sarah. Or Sherlock. And I can see that. I want him to be happy, but I also want me to be happy. I make it a point not to cry about things I see coming."

She rubbed her temples and put her head down for a minute. Taking a deep breath, she looked up again.

"That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt, though. I liked him a lot. I wish he'd gotten to meet my family."

X

"I don't know what went wrong," Anna sobbed. "I don't know, I don't want to know, I just want to go home."

Tears were rolling down her face, ungracefully, not helping her red and puffy eyes.

X

John Watson felt good about the next week and crappy about the current one. He knew he would. And he could go on and on about how those women didn't deserve to be treated like that. But really, he had had to make choices. So he picked the three women he liked the most. And Sherlock. Sherlock who confused him and who made him break rules and not feel bad about it. John couldn't even feel guilty about sneaking off to his room and getting far too physical with him.

And that worried him.

He only had one more week of dates before the overnight dates. The part where the producers had told him to make sure he wanted to sleep with whoever he kept. And he had to meet their parents and talk to them like he wasn't evaluating whether or not he could through sex with three different people in the span of three days.

He wasn't sure he could. But he couldn't worry about it now. All he could do was wonder if everyone would forgive him for not being able to go through with it. They might have to, at this rate.

And now he had to meet parents and figure out who he wanted for in-laws. Great. Because he was really thinking about in-laws at this stage. He just wanted the next few weeks to go by quickly.

He hoped he made the right decision when it came time.

For the present moment the right decision was to keep the ice pack firmly glued to his crotch, and try not to die of embarrassment. At least there'd been some silver lining to this particularly painful raincloud. It came in the form of a note shoved under the door when he got in.

_I've had angry clients, so I feel your pain._

_Sorry,_

_ Sherlock_


	8. Episode 8

Hi Everyone! I just wanted to start by apologizing for not responding to comments from the last few weeks. It's been a really busy time for me, and it's all I can do to keep the updates on time. I'm reading every one, though, and I'm going to try to catch up and respond to everyone this week. Thank you for all your support! I really appreciate it. ^_^

Episode Eight

It was odd to step foot in London after so long abroad. John couldn't deny that knew the airport, he knew the streets they were driving through, but it still felt strange. It wasn't really like coming home. It was more like coming back to a house he had moved out of several years ago. It was the same familiarity and surreality as if someone had snuck in and redecorated a place he once owned.

He was glad to know that all he had to do this week was meet people. The women - and Sherlock - were each in charge of planning their own dates. He got to spend tonight in his comfortable hotel room, and one day with each of them. Meet their families, remind himself of which three he liked the most and could see himself marrying.

Oh god. Marrying. Every time that thought circled back around John's calm disappeared. He still wasn't sure how he was going to manage that looming culmination to the show. And honestly, he wasn't sure he'd get the time to think about managing it. Everything was going so quickly.

And he could safely say that he loved Sherlock and Sarah, and he really liked Karen and Laura. Which was his only starting point on this problem. He had to decide who he would propose to, and the best place to start was with his feelings. His very confused feelings.

He sensed he would be tackling this issue repeatedly over the next few days.

X

Mrs Hudson had grabbed him in a hug as soon as he walked in the door. Sherlock wasn't sure what to make of it. It was always awkward to touch the woman, but not disgusting. He suffered through the awkwardness because he genuinely liked her. She was a good woman. If nosy.

"I'm so sorry, Sherlock," she said as she let go. He noted the tears in her eyes with confusion. "Are you alright, dear?"

"Perfectly, Mrs Hudson. A bit nervous." He pulled away and started up the stairs.

"Nervous?" she asked, following after him, but slower. "About what?"

"This hometown date, or whatever it is they call it. I have to get the apartment presentable. I don't want to look like a slob on national television." Sherlock didn't even bother to take off his coat; he was too preoccupied by what it would take to accomplish such a lofty goal. Apparently weeks of hotels and living out of a suitcase made him forget how much stuff he had, and his habit of throwing it all over his flat. Fuck. He grabbed a stack of papers and started to examine it. Where was he going to file casework? Suddenly the chair in the living room didn't seem like a good choice for files.

"You mean you're still in the running?" Mrs Hudson looked shocked as she stepped into the flat just behind him, which Sherlock couldn't really blame her for. But he still felt a bit insulted.

"Yes, and John will be here in four days, and I need to prepare." He spun around and gave her a raised eyebrow. "You don't have objections to cameras in the house, do you?"

X

John was terrified when he went to see Sarah the next morning. He had no idea what to expect and he really did want to make a good impression on her family. This was an important step in this relationship. And he had decided, if nothing else, that he was going to treat each relationship like it existed separately from the production. He had to, at this point, or he would lose his sanity. He _had_ to compare them on some level, because he still had to make decisions and he simply couldn't live like this for much longer. But at least for now he had to try to compartmentalize each of these people and the emotions he had for them, both for his sake and theirs. If he didn't break someone else's heart, his own would crack under pressure.

John _would_ enjoy these dates. He _would_ treat these relationships like they were completely not related to each other. And he _would_ get through this psychologically intact. He just hoped Sarah and Sherlock and Karen and Laura could do the same.

Because he wasn't sure if he could forgive himself if they couldn't.

Sarah was waiting for him at an unsuspecting street corner. He didn't see any particularly notable tourist attractions, or anything overly exciting. And somehow, that was a good thing. He didn't really want to go see Big Ben or Westminster Abbey right now.

John kissed her after he got out of the car.

"Hello, again," she said, smiling after his greeting. John was so happy to see that smile. It was soothing, and it reaffirmed why he was here. He was here to further his amazing relationship with this beautiful, wonderful woman.

"It's good to be back," John said, truthfully. It suddenly felt great to be in London. "How have you been?"

"Very good," Sarah replied, certainly looking like it. "Better now that you're here."

"It's better with you here, too." John's curiosity got the better of him. "What are we up to today?"

"You said that you haven't been to London in a while, what with the war and everything, I thought maybe I could reintroduce you to the city. We can walk around, and just enjoy seeing everything. And then we'll go see my parents for dinner."

That was... incredibly sweet. Really thoughtful, actually. John had mentioned his trepidation several weeks ago, the fact that Sarah not only remembered, but also tried to compensate for it was incredibly endearing. This was why he loved her.

"That sounds amazing," he happily proclaimed. It really did. "But you lead the way."

"Of course," she agreed, taking his hand. "We wouldn't want you to get lost, would we?"

John was a touch embarrassed about how real of a possibility that was.

X

Sherlock knew he had to get the flat... orderly. He didn't think he'd ever be able to call it clean, or decluttered, or any of those other model-of-cleanliness type words. He had moved most of his papers into his bedroom and shut the door. The door which was not going to open again until long after the cameras were gone. He didn't really sleep in there anyway. The couch served just as well.

But the kitchen was another matter. He had tried to put the vinegar and chemical bottles somewhere they wouldn't be touched. Most of his body parts had been removed from the fridge and returned to whatever establishment had loaned them - mostly the morgue and the hospital. Not always legally.

The ones that were his to keep were packaged and shoved unceremoniously into the freezer. It was the best way to hide them, that he could think of. After all, it was highly unlikely that a tour of his flat would involve a close inspection of frozen food or whatever other people used the freezer for.

But the dishes. The chemistry set. The strange mold growing on the sink he tried not to use. The utter lack of any cleaning supplies. He wasn't really sure what to do about any of these things, much less all of them combined to work against him. He had solicited Mrs Hudson, and she had agreed to help - if he got rid of anything that either came from a living body or could potential harm her. And moved the chemistry set. And the skull.

Which was a pity. He really liked the skull.

His plan of action right now was to put whatever would offend Mrs Hudson in the top cupboards and the freezer, and take his chemistry set and put it on his recently cleared desk. It wasn't going in his bedroom. He wanted to run a few experiments in the days before John got to visit him and that room had basically turned into a black pit from which nothing returned. Colloquially: a disaster.

If he had believed in a higher power, he would probably be begging them for help right now. As it was, he was hoping John would be alright with "good enough." Sherlock figured there was no point in kidding himself; he would never be perfectly neat, and he would probably always have a pile of papers and body parts somewhere, even if John ended up living here. That thought was unsettling, and it wasn't because it wasn't what he wanted. It was because of how unlikely it was that it was going to happen. He needed to not even consider it right now - however tempting it was to hope for a favourable outcome at least this once in his life.

He needed to be concerned with hoping that John didn't do the unthinkable and open the freezer. That might be bad.

X

Sarah was clinging to his hand. Not just holding it, but holding it like it was a lifeline. They had bought some gelato and settled down on a park bench to watch the flow of people. And it had been wonderful. Every second of walking around the city with Sarah was amazing. They looked at shops. They saw the markets. They made small talk easily and happily. The fact that she was holding his hand so tightly was worrying.

So was the fact that she kept trying to say something. Normally, silences with Sarah were comfortable. Natural. Like both of them didn't have to say anything. Conversation wasn't a necessity for them, just a benefit. And now she kept clearing her throat. And saying "Ah."

John couldn't take it for another moment. He squeezed her hand back.

"Sarah?" He asked quietly. "What's the matter?"

She sighed and rested her head on his shoulder, forehead sitting heavily on the top of his joint. "I'm afraid of making things awkward."

"Why?" John couldn't really fathom why she'd be worried. There was nothing she could say to make it awkward. "You're not going to tell me that you killed someone, are you?"

His joke went well. She lifted her head with a smile and a laugh. "No, of course not. I just wanted to say that I love you, but I know you can't say it back, and I'm not sure if that would make you uncomfortable."

"You love me?" John said, smiling. The confession didn't really come as a surprise, since she'd hinted at it a couple of weeks before, but still it was amazing to hear. He wished he could say it back. "There is no way I would be uncomfortable with that."

"Good." He really did love her smile. The way her eyes crinkle at the corners, and how her cheeks seemed so full. Like every muscle in her face was trying to express her happiness. It always made John want to smile back. So he did.

Her grip loosened a bit from his hand, as she stood up, pulling him with her. John was happy to follow.

"Come on," she said. "Let's go introduce you to my parents."

X

"Well, he knows for sure now," Sarah said happily. "I have told him, and he knows. And I think he feels the same way, even if he can't say it. I just hope he doesn't change his mind when he meets my family."

X

She didn't have a reason to be afraid. Sarah's parents welcomed John into their home with open arms. Her father was an older gentleman, wearing a trim suit, probably just for the camera, and her mother was a sweet woman in an apron. John was surprised to see her brother there, though. A tall brown-haired man with a blazer and a t-shirt on, he shook hands very firmly with John.

"Name's Jacob," he said cheerily. He looked a bit older than John. Maybe mid-thirties. "We're glad to have you."

"I'm glad to be here," John returned, positive that a big dopey smile was on his face.

Looking around he saw a tidy suburban house, middle class, with family pictures on the walls. Sarah's graduation. Jacob's. A picture of the four of them at a picnic when the children were much younger. A picture of Jacob's wedding. Sarah's mother and father kissing - probably an anniversary picture. Family was obvious really important to them.

Which put a lot more pressure on John than he wanted to admit. He really hoped he could measure up to their standards.

Sarah's parents shooed him over to the dining room table, where a full Christmas-esque dinner had been laid out. Sarah's mother passed him some turkey.

"Have you been back in England long?" she asked, politely. John smiled at her across the round table.

"Ah, a couple months, really. And most of that has been spent with this whole Bachelor business." He started to fill his plate. There was nothing like a good meal to end the day. "It feels kind of like a different world."

Mrs Sawyer nodded, sagely. "It would be a big change. It must be nice to be out of that awful desert."

"Yeah," John said. Subject change time. He didn't want to think about the war now. "You have a beautiful home. How long have you been here?"

"Oh, fifteen years now?" Mr Sawyer answered, calmly. He was rather reserved, though still friendly John appreciated that. "It's been a long while."

"It's good to have some place that you've settled into," John replied, happy to keep the conversation going. "At least you're comfortable in your home."

"Yes, we definitely are," Sarah said with a smile.

X

John was supposed to be talking with each of Sarah's parents. But somehow he found himself talking to her brother instead. Jacob had grabbed his arm and pulled him off to the sitting room, with a big fake smile on his face.

"So," the older man started, "how do you feel about Sarah?"

John sighed internally. He had known this was coming. Wasn't this whole thing awkward enough without familial displeasure aimed his way?

"I really like her. A lot. Sarah's a wonderful woman." Honesty, he assumed, was the best policy. And really, he needed to let her family know he wasn't trying to be a bad guy. "She's caring, and beautiful, and she listens well. She makes me feel really comfortable, just being myself."

"Good," Jacob said slowly. Not quite the reaction John had been expecting. He felt like he was being scrutinized. But somehow, not in a bad way. "I know you've got more than just her, but you seem like you really like her."

"I do." John couldn't emphasize that enough.

"Well, good, because she likes you more than she lets on." Jacob steepled his hands and leaned back in to the sofa. Thinking. "And honestly, that's a good look on her. My sister hasn't really had a serious boyfriend for a few years. It's kind of nice to see her in something serious."

John wasn't sure how to respond to that. Fortunately, he didn't have to. Jacob kept going after a moment.

"That's not putting pressure on you," he said, calmly. "I'm just saying. She's had bad luck with boyfriends, and even if this doesn't work for her it's been a lot better than the past few years of crap dates. If I know her, it's just what she needs to pull out of it."

"I hope that, however this ends, Sarah isn't hurt," John said quietly, and honestly. He looked Jacob straight in the eyes. "She deserves a hell of a lot better than to be left feeling like crap with crap boyfriends."

"I agree." Jacob stood up, abruptly. "But more important is to hear it from you. If she's got to play this game, at least the person pulling the strings can be a decent man."

X

"I'm not sure what my brother said to him," Sarah said, quieter than normal. The camera was obviously just in the front hall, not somewhere very private. "I really hope it wasn't the 'break her heart and I'll kill you' speech. John deserves better than that."

X

"Treat my daughter well, and I'll be happy with you," Mr Sawyer said, in a drawn out tone. "Don't break her heart, boy. It would kill me to see her heartbroken."

"I'll do my best not to, sir," John deferred. He hoped her mother would be a little more forthcoming.

X

"Oh, she's been so excited to bring you back here," Mrs Sawyer said, cheerily. "It's been all John-this and John-that, John is coming! She's been so chipper. You really brightened her up."

"Do you think so?" The dopey smile was back. John couldn't help it.

"Of course I do. I'm her mother. I know these things." Mrs Sawyer winked.

X

By the time John got away from the family chatter - which is all it really was - he was tired again. Mrs Sawyer had told him he was handsome and a good man. Mr Sawyer had given him the boyfriend speech, and he hadn't gotten anything out of it. He was glad he had talked to Jacob. At least a sibling perspective had been insightful. He felt like he knew a little more about Sarah now, other than the fact that she had a perfect little suburban family.

Not that Mr and Mrs Sawyer weren't lovely people. Any couple who could be so welcoming to a man who they had never met and who was essentially toying with their daughter's heart had to be lovely people.

When Sarah grabbed his hand and lead him up the stairs, he didn't protest. She pulled him into a girly bedroom - obviously her old room - and sat him on the bed before leaning in to kiss him.

"Thank you for coming, John," she said softly, her mouth still close to his. He slid his hands along her waist.

"I'm glad I came," he whispered back. Sarah was perfect. And this just reassured him of that fact. "It's been a really wonderful day."

"Good," she sighed, her lips brushing against his. "You've been so amazing. I wanted to give you something wonderful."

He closed the kiss. And felt her melt into him, lips opening for him, tongue pushing back against his. Her hands slid down his back, and he tightened his grip on her waist. She was a great kisser, and she knew exactly what she was doing. In a moment she had squirmed into his lap and threaded a hand in to his hair, tender, and gentle, and _close_. Emotionally, and physically. Sarah was everywhere and wonderful and he could smell the soft scent of her shampoo and the light feeling of her hair against his shoulder.

It felt incredible. Heartbreakingly so. It was as if everything had come together perfectly, and if they had been dating normally, and in a house that wasn't her parents', John knew that this would be going somewhere. And quickly.

As it was, they pulled apart slowly, Sarah resting her forehead against his, eyes closed.

"Thank you, John," she whispered, and slid off him, offering a hand for him to get up.

She walked him to the door.

X

That night, John felt alright for the first time in a long time. That had worked. For today he had _just_ been dating Sarah. No one else. And he hadn't felt guilty about it. Plus he had great memories of Sarah and him, and that fantastic kiss. There was a bit more security in that relationship, too.

Mind you, he was still worried about Karen, and Laura, and Sherlock. Somehow, not thinking about them made coming back to his lonely hotel room worse. Now he had double the worries to think about.

He could do it again, though. He could handle fretting on his own if it helped him get through these dates. There was no guilt when he was kissing Sarah. Just afterwards. If he could do that for everyone, he'd be happy. They deserved a guilt-free John for each of their respective days, and he was damn well going to provide them with that.

Though it probably meant he wasn't going to sleep much. Hopefully no one minded if he drank far too much coffee.

X

"Cameras?" Lestrade asked, incredulous. "Why would there be cameras?"

Sherlock rubbed his head violently with his hand, eyes closed. Really? Lestrade really couldn't figure out why there would be cameras? Why are people so idiotic?

"Look, I know you think everyone else is an idiot, but you've been gone for almost two months, and we haven't heard a peep from you. Now you come back and say you're filming for some sort of show?" Lestrade put his hands palms down on his desk. Sherlock fidgeted. Hadn't Mycroft said he was going to tell the people at the Yard and save him the agony? As it was, this was getting more painful, because Lestrade, in his ignorance, was dragging this out. Ah, so that was his brother's real punishment. Touché, Mycroft.

"Yes. And I'd appreciate if I was allowed to bring cameras for one day, here, so they can see my... employment."

Lestrade didn't bother to correct him. They both knew this wasn't really a job. Not in any traditional sense. There were more important matters at hand.

"What show?" Lestrade's curiosity was obviously killing him.

And right there, Sherlock felt himself go beet red. Sickly pale skin was a _curse_ and he hated it right now. Goddamn it.

"The Bachelor," he admitted reluctantly.

"That American dating show?" If Lestrade's eyebrows went any higher, they'd pop off his face.

"There's a UK version as well," Sherlock stated solemnly, turning to examine a piece of paperwork on Lestrade's desk, hoping his dignity could be saved.

"And you're the bachelor, are you?" Lestrade was standing, coming around the desk. "Didn't think you were the type."

Oh good god, really? Could he blush any more? Could Lestrade get any denser? Would someone _please_ put him out of his misery?

"I'm not." Sherlock went with vague.

"Not what?" And of course, Lestrade kept barreling through his deflections. Sigh.

"The Bachelor."

"Wha..." There. Right there. Sherlock watched as the facts clicked in Lestrade's mind, his mouth going from a slight frown to a repressed and rather silly grin. It would have been more satisfying if it weren't _embarrassing_. "Woah. Wait until the team hears that one."

Sherlock was beginning to wonder if it really was possible to die of embarrassment. It certainly felt like he was going to as his stomach seemed to begin turning. He had to restrain himself from getting onto his knees and downright begging Lestrade to keep all this to himself. Sadly he knew there was no way the older man would.

He made a mental note to make sure Anderson wasn't working when he came by. At least he could save himself _that_ particular agony.

X

The car dropped John off at Marble Arch the next day. Laura was waiting quietly beneath the monument, waiting for him. She smiled brightly when he got there, and squeezed him in a tight hug.

"John," she gasped. John hugged her back. "I'm so glad you're here."

"So am I," John said, happily. It was nice to see Laura one-on-one. This was her first non-group date, but John could still say he had made the right choice in keeping her. She was agreeable, and energetic, and very easy to talk to. Spending time with Laura was going to be fun.

"Follow me?" She grabbed his hand and pulled him down the street towards a brown brick building.

"Where are we going?" John was curious. He wasn't quite sure what she had planned.

"Well, you've been showing us bits of your life," she said, calmly, "so I wanted to show you a part of mine."

They came up in front of the London School of Fashion and Design.

"This is where I'm studying right now. I'm taking design." She tugged him through the door. "Let me show you around?"

X

"I had some serious doubts about how well John and I worked together, just a couple days ago," Laura admitted. "It was hard. I thought I was going to have to leave, or that maybe John hadn't made the right decision. I'm glad we went home this week. I talked to my mum, and she really helped rationalize things for me. I don't feel so insecure anymore. And I'm really happy about it. I think I can do this. Maybe _we_ can do this."

X

Standing in a room full of mannequins was almost eerie. John had three young women and a man draping fabric across his shoulders and sketching furiously. Laura was talking with a few of them.

"I think the blue looks best with his eyes," the girl called Samantha said.

"Navy or royal? We had two of them up there." Laura was sketching on a pad while she talked. Eliza was measuring around his chest.

"Definitely the navy!" Suzanne piped in. She was hovering just behind Laura, and making notes and suggestions on her design. "It's a bit more sophisticated."

"I totally agree," Laura replied.

John felt a hand slide along his shoulders, with a measuring tape trailing behind it. Chaz was measuring his shoulder width, and around his arms.

"You have some incredible shoulders," he half-purred. "Mm, Laura has found herself someone fine."

Chaz honestly couldn't have been more flamboyant if he tried. John wondered if there was anything more stereotypical than a flamboyant gay man in the fashion industry, but regardless, Chaz seemed nice. And he was definitely efficient. It only took him a minute to finish with measurements and check Laura's sketch.

"Are we really going with pintucked French cuffs?" he asked, loudly. Laura smiled up at him.

"No, we aren't. We're going with very thin lines of embroidery. The machines can handle it quickly enough." She passed the sketch on to him and he pulled out some heavy paper.

"Matching collar?"

"Matching collar," Laura confirmed. "Can you handle it?"

Chad laughed and tossed a hand out. "Girl, I can handle everything you've got. Throw it at me, baby."

Laura laughed, brightly. John was shocked at how comfortable she seemed. This was obviously where she belonged. And he couldn't help but feel privileged to be there.

"Oh, you can't handle this, Chaz. But I'm taking John for a walk. How long 'til it's finished?"

Samantha had already laid out the navy blue silk on a cutting table, and began prepping the sewing machine. She answered. "You give us two hours and we'll have it done."

"I'm giving you three, then," Laura replied, grabbing John and pulling him towards the hall. She looked at him conspiratorially. "Always give a designer more time than they think they need. Especially these two."

X

Mrs Hudson came in with a broom and a bottle of cleaner. She gave him a disapproving look.

"I thought I told you to get rid of the skull, Sherlock." Bah. The old woman was only observant when it was convenient for her.

"I will," Sherlock said, grabbing her shoulders and spinning her away from the offending object. He was also blatantly lying. "But first we have sink mold to get rid of."

Mrs Hudson obviously hadn't wanted that eyeful of disgusting mold residue. Sherlock hadn't either to be honest, but it was there, and he was damn well going to clean it.

"Sherlock, so help me God, if you move out without cleaning this place entirely with bleach, I _will_ sue you for the damages. Just so we're clear." Mrs Hudson looked horrified. "What even _caused _this?"

Her face contorted upon further examination of the greenish, yellowish, reddish patch of _something _climbing out of the drain and up the sides of the sink.

It was hilarious.

"Well, you don't have to worry about that." Sherlock wasn't moving any time soon. He would _never_ find such an accommodating landlady again. "I'll be sure to leave the place spotless for the next tenant." Another blatant lie. Truth was, the next tenant would probably be moving in after his cold, dead body was on the way out. Hence, freeing him of any inconvenient cleaning obligations.

She sighed heavily. "Well, let's get to work, then. Only two more days before your beau shows up."

X

Being shown around Laura's school was fun. She took him to her classes, and had him meet her friends and her favourite teachers, and showed him some of her design work. She was good. And it felt really natural to meet all of these people. Everything she did was seamless and bubbly. To say the least, she was a very upbeat person. John liked it.

But when he saw his shirt in person, he was shocked. It was beautiful. Soft as butter silk, delicate and subtle embroidery, and an absolutely perfect fit.

"Damn," Chaz said loudly when John stepped out of the fitting room. "We are _good_."

John had to agree. This was the nicest clothing article he had ever owned.

"Are you sure this is alright?" he asked, with a bit of trepidation. He really didn't deserve anything this nice.

"Yes, and you better wear it proudly," Samantha said emphatically. "We worked hard and you look fabulous."

"You can wear it to dinner," Laura said. "Mum will love it."

X

They arrived at the little three bedroom apartment just a bit before supper. The dining room table was set nicely and all three of Laura's family members were waiting. Her mother gave John a hug and a kiss on the cheek as he walked in the door.

"Look at this!" she exclaimed. "How did you pick up such a handsome man, Laura?"

Laura blushed a bit, but she looked proud. John was sure he was blushing furiously.

"Your daughter is lovely, too," John replied. "And so are you, Mrs Jameson."

"Rhonda, love," she said, ushering him in. "And my father's name is Charles, but you might have to speak up a bit when you talk to him."

"Is this the boy?" Charles said loudly form the couch. He stood up slowly and made his way over to John. "Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too, sir," John said, shaking hands firmly. After a second he was grabbed by the shoulders from behind.

"You're John?" a high-pitched voice shrieked, just a bit too close. "Oh my God, I've heard so much about you."

"Char, calm down." Laura made her let go, and John turned around to see a late teen-aged girl with bright pink nail polish and matching clothes. "John, this is my sister Charlene."

"Nice to meet you," John said. She beamed at him.

"That's one of Laura's, isn't it?" she asked, pointing at his shirt. "It suits you perfectly."

"Thank you," John said with a slow smile. "It's amazing how quickly she can make something so beautiful."

"It really is," Rhonda added. "It looks lovely on you, John. Are you hungry at all?"

"Definitely." If he was honest, he was starving. They were lucky his stomach wasn't growling.

"Good. I made a ton of food. Let's get started."

X

"They love him, as expected," Laura laughed. "Oh gosh, this is so great. John fits right in. It really does feel like he's always been a friend."

X

"You're going to love her," Charlene said loudly to him, when she talked to him. "She's the best person I know, and she's just a great sister. So take care of her?"

"Of course," John reassured her. "She's wonderful. I always have a good time with Laura."

"You always will," Charlene said with a sigh. "You don't have a younger brother, do you? I could use someone like you."

John laughed.

X

"Well, it's about time." Charles sighed heavily. "I love that girl. I've been helping raise her since her father passed away."

"I'm so sorry to hear that," John said, not sure what to say to that. Her father had died? "That must have been hard on her."

Charles nodded. "It was. But that was years ago. She was only six at the time. And I think we did a good job at it, Rhonda and I. My daughter has always been a trooper. She coped with her husband passing and her daughters' grieving, and didn't miss a beat. We're all pretty close because of her."

"I don't doubt it. That's a really admirable woman."

Charles smiled. "I raised her well, I guess. She turned out right. And Laura did too."

"She certainly did." John couldn't help but agree.

X

John sat down heavily across from Rhonda. The woman sighed, and looked him straight in the eyes.

"She had some doubts, you know," she said, raw honesty in her voice. "She wasn't sure you were the one. And it wasn't because she didn't like you, just so we're clear. She maybe likes you a bit too much."

"I like her a lot too," John said, honest and calm. He wasn't sure where this was going. "Just meeting you and her friends, and seeing her lifestyle, I feel like part of her life."

"Good," Rhonda sighed. "Because she feels like part of yours. And she loves you, whether she says it or not. She talks about you like you're already part of the family."

"You all are so close," John said softly. "I'm flattered. There's nothing that could make me happier."

He meant it. He didn't know what was going through Laura's head. He could only imagine how hard it must be to struggle with this concept and their harem-esque relationships. He couldn't blame her for not being sure. But he was utterly flattered that she still thought of him like family. He liked her family. And he was happy to be part of it, even for a short amount of time.

"Just be gentle with her, alright?" Rhonda said, solemnly. "She's a bit nervous right now, and she doesn't have any support."

"I'll be good to her," John said. And he would. Hopefully he wouldn't break her heart.

X

Laura stood with him outside in the hallway, saying their good byes. Her eyes were shining with half-tears.

"I'm so glad I got to show you my home," she said, hugging him tightly and briefly. "Today was perfect."

"It was," John agreed. He had really enjoyed his time with Laura. It was great.

"Promise me something?" She looked a touch shy.

"Sure."

"Come back and see me? Regardless of what happens between us." She looked so hopeful. "You just... it feels like you've always been part of my life. Even if we don't end up together, I want you to come back once in a while and visit."

John was touched. She was so honest. And he really did feel like he was her friend, first and foremost. And he couldn't say no when she asked him like that.

He gently leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. She held the kiss, wordless, a soft smile lingering on her lips.

"It's a promise," John said, quietly.

X

"I can definitely see him here. Especially after family dinner, and taking him to see school and meeting my friends. I want him to be here." Laura smiled, butterflies floating in her stomach. "I can picture his place in my life. Even if we don't make it to the end, I hope he keeps his promise."

X

John laid himself in bed and took a deep breath. His new shirt was hanging in the closet, very neatly pressed and careful cared for. It was gorgeous. And he was really just touched with the whole date. Everything she had done and taken him to see had been so personal and so carefully picked out, that he felt really close to her. Like he knew an entire new Laura.

And he liked it.

But he loved Sarah. And he really liked Laura, and Karen was tomorrow, and then he got to see Sherlock.

And he missed Sherlock. These dates had been amazing. But he had seen Sarah recently, and Laura, and he hadn't seen Sherlock in over a week now. And he felt guilty about that. But he also felt guilty about the dates, and being told that Laura was fragile and knowing he couldn't promise to not break her heart.

He hoped she'd still want him to visit if things went badly between them.

X

"John!" Karen yelled from her perch on the brick wall. Behind her was a huge field covered in rows and rows of grapes. John meandered up to her, feeling a bit tired, but smiling like a fool. Again.

"Take a look at this," Karen said pulling him up on the short wall, and pointing. "We make one every year, for a tourist attraction."

In front of him was a short, trellised maze. It only took up a square that was about ten metres by ten metres, but it was complex enough to provide a challenge. Grapevines covered the trellises, blending everything together in a knot. John thought he knew what they were about to do.

"A maze?" he asked, anyway. It didn't hurt to humour her.

"A race," she corrected immediately. Uh oh. "You versus me. I wasn't around when they constructed the maze this year. My dad supervised. So we're on equal footing."

"Well, as long as we're even," John said jokingly. He didn't really care if she had an advantage. "How are we going to do this?"

"Stop watch," Karen said, dangling the item in front of him. She leaned over and pecked him on the lips. "And it's small enough that we can talk over the bushes. If you want to catch up."

"Of course I do." John did. It was nice to talk to Karen, and he had missed her. "What have you been doing for the past week?"

She led him toward the start of the maze and sent him in. The trellises were only about waist high, so it was easy to talk to her still.

"Well, Dad had a bit of a breakdown when I got home. I guess he missed me a lot. He's gotten used to not having to do much work for the vineyard anymore. So, it's been kind of emotional."

"I bet." John turned left and rapidly met with a dead end. Backtracking. "It's probably hard to be away from your parents when you're so close to them."

"It is." He almost couldn't hear her sigh. He was halfway across the maze by this point. Fortunately for him, it wasn't much of a challenge. "But it's harder for Dad. He depends on me."

John let the silence lapse for a moment. "Well, I'm glad you've got to visit him again."

Right turn, clear path forwards. He was getting close.

"So am I," Karen said, cheerily. "And I'm glad you're going to meet him. And my mother. She'll be here too."

"Sounds exciting," John said breathless, dashing towards the exit. Almost there. "I can't wait to meet them."

"Time!" Karen called, rushing to meet him at the exit. "Four minutes, seventeen seconds. Not bad."

John laughed. It wasn't a big maze.

"Your turn?" he asked. She passed the stopwatch over.

X

Angelo was smiling just a little too broadly for Sherlock's likance. Honestly, was everyone going to react this way? It was getting on his nerves.

"So, would that be a 'yes' to the cameras?" he asked. Might as well get his answer now.

"Of course! The whole restaurant is yours Mr Holmes. I'll make sure you get the best seat and a top quality meal for you and Mr Bachelor." Angelo gave him a big wink. Sherlock tried to keep his smile up. After all, free dinners were _incredibly_ nice.

"Thank you, Angelo," he said, politely. "I appreciate it."

"You put in a good word for me, yeah?" Angelo said, loudly, going to a cupboard and shuffling around. "Mention the restaurant and maybe we'll get a bit more business coming in and out."

"Of course," Sherlock murmured, eyeing the piles of candles that Angelo was pulling from the cupboard. And a nice tablecloth. Oh, boy. "What are you doing?"

He already knew.

"Preparing! We'll get a nice table set up, with a few candles." Angelo smiled like a Cheshire cat and Sherlock just wanted to die. "Candles make it more romantic."

Blech. He would never get used to that word in relation to him. Alright. Time to leave. Next he would be getting advice on what to wear.

"I'll leave it to you then."

"Trust me, Mr Holmes," Angelo called after him, "you will never forget the night!"

Sherlock just hoped it was unforgettable in a _good_ way.

X

Karen's father, Tim, gave him the coldest welcome yet. He had literally stuck out his hand and said his name. John wasn't sure what to make of that, but Karen seemed to hover over him. She had adjusted his napkin and told him to smile, and patted him on the back when he looked glum. She acted a lot more like his wife than his daughter.

His _actual_ ex-wife was much nicer. Eleanor was a sweet middle-aged woman who didn't act like a mother at all, and insisted on being called Elle. John could almost sense the fact that she had a younger boyfriend she hadn't brought along. For appearances, probably. But that was more speculation than he usually allowed himself.

"Karen's usually too tied down to find a man," Elle said, cheekily. She was winking at John while Karen ran to the kitchen to get supper. "This whole thing has been a good vacation for her. Maybe now she'll smarten up and get herself married."

"I hope she's been enjoying our time, anyway," John said, a bit awkward. This was the least comfortable dinner he had ever attended. Tim still wouldn't say anything to him.

"She's fine the way she is," Tim grumbled, not looking at John. "Leave the girl alone, Elle."

"You should talk," Elle said. "You won't let the poor girl make any decisions on her own. Like a thundercloud hiding all her sunshine."

"That's enough, Mother. And you too, Dad. You're supposed to be making John feel welcome." She set the plate of ham down and settled in between John and her father. Her arm rested against his as she whispered, "Sorry. They fight like children."

John smiled softly and Tim scowled. It was going to be a long evening.

X

"Seriously, though," Elle was saying to him, as the two of them sat in the beautiful wide sitting room, "she needs this. Break her heart, do what you need to do, but let her break free from her father for a while"

"I don't want to break her heart," John said, completely honest. He was a bit unsettled by how close she was to her father, though. It was a really strange relationship to see in person, and hard to swallow from a romantic perspective. He could see where her mother was coming from.

"Well, do it anyway. If you don't, she'll probably break yours." Elle paused and looked at him. "You might be fine, though. And if you are? Don't let her baby her father. That man will go to the ground leaning on other people. That's why we divorced."

"You seem happier separated," John commented. She did. She was a lively woman.

"We are. And I wasn't going to be his nursemaid for the next forty years. But I don't want Karen to be either."

John nodded. That was all he could really do.

X

Tim glowered at him. John was steadily beginning to feel like he needed to leave. Or else. No one even had to say the threat aloud. It was still there. And Karen hadn't really been softening the hostility. She almost seemed to be goading it on, unwittingly.

Like kissing John on the cheek just before her father started to talk to him.

"She's not ready for a relationship." Tim's voice was gravelly and hard. John was terrified. "She's too young and she's got a lot on her plate. She doesn't need you too."

"I think she's old enough to make that decision herself." John couldn't help it. There was no way to avoid being confrontational here.

"She's not your little girl. You don't know her like I do." Tim's glower was getting more hostile. John wasn't quite sure how that was possible.

"I probably don't, but I like her a lot. I want to know more about her." John was trying. He really was. "I don't want to hurt her or push her into anything."

"Neither do I."

"Good." He didn't seem happy. "Maybe you'll do the right thing then."

X

Karen walked him out, down the long dirt road. Her hand clasped in his, walking slowly in the moonlight, it was almost perfect. Except or the bad taste of Karen's family lingering behind them.

"I'm sorry about my dad," Karen said with a sigh. "He's like that. He'd get used to you after you lived with us for a while, though."

"Are you sure?" John asked. He couldn't see Tim _ever_ adjusting to another man in the house.

"Yeah, I think so." Karen's half-smile wasn't convincing. "I know he's abrasive, but he has to adjust to reality sometime."

"Are you sure you're ready to bring a fiancé home, though?" John asked. Tim had brought it up, but he had a point. "I wouldn't get between you and your dad?"

"It would be fine," she said, harshly. No specifics. "I've got to do what I want at some point."

John found it odd that the only thing Karen wasn't bluntly honest about was her family. The things closest to her were apparently her blind spot.

"Sorry," she whispered after a moment. "It's been a hard week."

"I believe it," John whispered back, squeezing her hand. He couldn't imagine dealing with that antagonism. "Sorry if I caused trouble."

"No, no worries." Karen smiled up at him, looking like herself again for a moment. "Sorry they were so tough on you. And that my sister didn't stop by. I told you she was twat."

John laughed. It felt good to smile after the last few hours.

"She certainly seems to be."

"She packs up and leaves if things get tough around her. And she screams like a toddler when she doesn't get her way." Karen shook her head. "It was probably better that she wasn't here."

They reached the end of the drive and just stood, holding hands, looking at each other. Finally, John leaned in and kissed her.

"Thank you, for showing me your home," John said when they broke apart. Karen smiled a little wider.

"Any time, John. Come by again sometime."

Suddenly her face turned wistful and told John that she knew something he didn't. He just wished he knew what it was.

X

John woke up the next feeling down right exhausted, but also excited. Not sleeping because of guilt was half-killing him, but he was very ready to see Sherlock again. He missed the consulting detective's wry and bitter humour, and the timid but strong relationship they were forming. Seeing Sherlock in his element was going to be a treat.

And, fuck, just seeing Sherlock's face again was going to be a relief. John knew that he was building some very deep bonds, now. Sherlock was definitely one of them.

The driver dropped him off at 221B Baker Street, a grey brick building with a very familiar figure standing out in front. Sherlock.

"Haven't seen you in a while," John said getting out of the car, a smile already on his face. Sherlock didn't smile until he placed a kiss on the detective's cheek. "How have you been?"

"Busy," Sherlock said, vaguely. They started up the stairs. "I've been trying to get everything in order."

"You didn't have to clean for me," John teased. Sherlock blushed.

"Oh, yes, he did," an older lady said as they passed through the doorway. She bustled over to take their coats, immediately fussing. "He needed to clean for _himself_ even. Sherlock, is this him?"

"Mrs Hudson, this is John," Sherlock said gesturing from one to the other. He did so somewhat nervously, almost like he was suddenly embarrassed by the older woman's presence. John found it almost cute. He couldn't believe he'd ever use that word in relation to the consulting detective. "John, this is Mrs Hudson, my landlady."

"Nice to meet you," John said, shaking her hand. She had a surprisingly firm handshake.

"Same to you, love, same to you," she said, beginning to usher them up the stairs. "It's so good to see Sherlock take an interest in someone. He's been in denial for years."

"I am _not_ in denial about anything, Mrs Hudson." Sherlock frowned. But he wasn't really irritated. John had seen him irritated. Instead it felt like banter with Mrs Hudson was soothing and instantly comfortable. "I simply don't find most people interesting."

"Unless they're John," she added with a wink. John felt his cheeks colour slightly. "He told me all about you. Sit, and I'll make you some tea. But just because it's a special occasion. I'm the landlady, not a housekeeper."

She certainly didn't seem like a housekeeper to John, especially considering the extent she seemed to care about Sherlock. The detective meanwhile seemed to be comfortable with her, as if she were really family and suddenly John wasn't sure why the man had been so concerned about showing him his life. There was nothing wrong with having family that wasn't biologically related to you.

She leveled a _look_ at Sherlock before scurrying out, presumably to make the tea. John took a look around. There was a chemistry set on the desk in the corner, and a Union Jack pillow on the chair, and a ratty couch. He noted the skull on the mantle, and the pile of papers and miscellaneous things strewn about. Orderly, but still cluttered. He sort of felt like he was walking in on Sherlock's psyche.

"She's a sweet lady," John commented, sitting down on the chair after Sherlock flopped onto the couch. "Very nice."

"Mmm," Sherlock agreed. "She's very accommodating of my... unusual habits."

"And the skull, which he wouldn't get rid of, and the bullet holes in my wall, and his habits of going in and out at all hours of the night." She smiled and waved a kettle, coming up the stairs. "I just brought the kettle up with me."

"Bullet holes?" John asked. Mrs Hudson pointed at the smiling spray painted face that had been half covered by a picture. John could see at least one mark in the wall. "Do I want to know?"

"Boredom, in a mind as active as mine, is a terrible thing to deal with." Sherlock sniffed, trying to keep his calm. He hoped John wouldn't run terrified from him after this date. He didn't want things to be over yet. Please. "I tried to occupy myself with target practice, and failed."

He was surprised when John's face quirked into a smile.

"Somehow, I'm not surprised. I'm sure you keep her up playing the violin at all hours too." John was a bit shocked with how little Sherlock's erratic behaviour bothered him. He knew the man was smarter than he could ever imagine being; somehow, the fact that that intelligence came with a commanding but wildly eccentric personality was enticing rather than terrifying.

John wondered what that said about him.

"He certainly does." Mrs Hudson shook her head. "But someone needs to look out for him. He doesn't have enough friends."

"Thank you for taking care of him," John replied, still smiling. Sherlock was wondering exactly how embarrassing this whole adventure would be. Hopefully not every conversation would end up with him coming across like he was a petulant child. He wasn't.

"Well, thank you for giving him a bit of a romantic boost." Mrs Hudson poured the tea in to three mugs. "It's about time he had someone. Maybe you can double date with Mrs Turner's couple. They've been married a few years now."

"Mrs Hudson, can you please stop treating tenants like collectables?" Sherlock groaned. He'd heard about the "married ones" three times now, and it wasn't getting any less objectionable.

"Oh, hush, you." John laughed at her frown. "I was just suggesting. Same way I would suggest you sleep in the upstairs bedroom. God knows yours is uninhabitable."

Sherlock scowled. Mrs Hudson ignored him.

"Cream and sugar, John?"

"Yes, please," John agreed. She brought the mugs over and settled down.

X

After tea, Mrs Hudson got them their coats and sent them out the door, telling Sherlock to get on with it and stop boring John with the chatter of an old lady. Sherlock wasn't quite sure how her chattering was his fault, but he was glad to be in the car and on their way to the Yard. He even texted Lestrade, to make sure that Anderson was _not_ nearby when he arrived.

Mind you, he didn't have any faith that the inspector would heed that text.

John sat comfortably beside him, leaning slightly on his arm. It was comforting. Familiar. And it rather bothered Sherlock that he had missed this a lot. Somehow, the doctor was still worming his way into Sherlock's life, and even deeper into his affections. Leaving Sherlock with the sneaking suspicion that John just might _belong_ beside him.

Which was irrational and not based in fact, and Sherlock was not thinking about this anymore. Period. He had more rational matters to attend to.

Things that didn't tug at his perhaps non-existent heart strings or weigh him down with _emotion_. It was bad enough that he was in love, or at least he assumed that was the word for what he was experiencing. He didn't need to let it take over his brain.

"Where are we heading to?" John asked, calmly. Sherlock was surprised at how well he was taking to the realities of Sherlock's life. He had been sure that John would turn tail with the bullet holes. Or the disaster of his flat. Or the fact that he had _ensured_ the death of Mr Hudson, rather than preventing it.

"New Scotland Yard," Sherlock said, quickly. "I wanted to show you what I do and who I work with. There won't be a case to work on, but you can at least talk to Inspector Lestrade."

"No dead bodies this time?" John was joking with him. That was a good sign, right?

"Unfortunately, filming something like that is a breach of confidentiality." He smiled back at John. "Besides, they tell me I shouldn't mix work with relationships until I've figured out one or the other."

John laughed, and the car stopped outside their destination. Lestrade met them, and led them inside.

X

"So you're his boyfriend, is it?" Lestrade asked, trying to be subtle. And failing.

"Ah, yeah, I suppose that's the right term." John had been left alone with the Inspector for a few minutes, while Sherlock was dragged away to take a quick glimpse at a case. Somehow, he suspected that this was in place of his discussion with family. Sherlock didn't seem to have any traditional family.

"Well, good luck," Lestrade said with a sigh. "He's an interesting man, that's for sure. But I have no idea how a relationship with him would work. Orientation aside."

"He's amazing," John said, slowly. It was true. That's the best word to describe Sherlock. Amazing. "It's working. I didn't expect it to, but it is."

Lestrade's face lit up a bit. "Yeah? He's not just slowly scaring you away?"

John's laugh sounded almost like a bark. "No, he's not. He's more interesting than anyone I've ever met, and being around him is... exhilarating. I'm not sure why, but he's been good for me."

John knew he was thinking about his leg. But he was also thinking about Paul, and he was also thinking about kissing in Sherlock's bedroom, and how thoroughly he had managed to displace everything that was bothering him when he was around the detective. Being with Sherlock, he could be himself. Sherlock didn't hide the skull on the mantelpiece, or the depression, or his condescending humour. And John didn't have to pretend he didn't find the jokes funny, even if he did feel disappointed in himself. And he didn't have to hide the fact that he was broken from the war, or that he felt awfully guilty about what was going on with this production. They were flawed and it was alright, and somehow that made everything work together wonderfully.

Lestrade nodded. "That's relieving to hear, Dr Watson -"

"John, please," he interrupted.

"John." Lestrade said, with a smile. "You'll be good for him, I think. Try not to break him, though, alright? He's a hard person to understand, but he's not as unfathomable as he thinks he is."

"Lestrade!" came Sherlock's voice from the hallway. "Tell your minions to let me in!"

Lestrade walked over to the door, and opened it. Sherlock swooshed in, with two other people behind him. A woman, and a man.

"I thought I asked you to make sure Donovan and Anderson _weren't_ here." Sherlock glared at him.

"Pfft, as if we would miss this, Freak," Sally said with mockery in her tone. She was polite enough when she turned to John though. She offered a hand. "Sally Donovan."

"Nice to meet you," John said shaking her hand. Sherlock put his arm between them and made a shooing motion.

"Yes, yes, nice to meet you, have a good day," he said, sarcasm dripping from every word. "You need to leave and so does Anderson, before John's IQ starts to drop from being in your presence."

John was instantly concerned by the fact that he had found that funny and had to suppress a rather unmanly giggle. Clearly Sherlock was getting to his sense of humour.

"Sherlock, relax," Lestrade said, watching Donovan move to the side. "They won't do anything."

"By being born and here, they have already done enough," came the acidic response from the detective.

"We'll leave you to your messed up relationships," Anderson chipped in. "If he's not smart enough to get away from this fast, he probably deserves you."

"That's enough, Anderson," Lestrade said sharply. John hadn't even had time to lash out. "I don't care about your antagonism with Sherlock; you can leave innocent bystanders out of it."

Sally raised an eyebrow, but the two of them shut up.

"Thank you, Lestrade," Sherlock said with more gratitude than he could normally muster. John could tell that this was something recurring. "If you're done lecturing him, I think we'll be on our way to dinner."

"I'm impressed," Sally said, with a hint of cattiness. "He actually had the forethought to plan a meal."

"Donovan, I've so far managed to not say anything embarrassing about you on national television, but so help me if I hear one more flippant comment from you," Sherlock growled. He stormed out of the room. "Come on, John."

"Just a minute." Sally stopped him. Her hand on his shoulder and a very level gaze staring in to his eyes. "Look, you seem nice. Be careful, alright? The guy's a psychopath, and you don't know what you're getting in to."

"Sally," Lestrade sighed, rubbing his forehead with his hand. "Try not to terrify him."

"John!" Sherlock called from the hallway, negating his need to say anything but goodbye. Which was fortunate, because John really didn't have anything to say to that. There was a good chance Sherlock _was_ a psychopath. But he was also something far more than that, and John was close enough to him that he didn't think he needed to be warned.

He _did_ know what he was getting in to. And whether or not that terrified Sergeant Donovan didn't matter to him.

X

"Sherlock!" Angelo cheered loudly as the two of them walked in to the restaurant. "And Mr Bachelor, nice to meet you!"

John wasn't sure he had ever had a handshake that enthusiastic before. Angelo quickly grabbed some menus and ushered them to sit down.

"I've got my best cook waiting just for you two. Order anything you want, for Sherlock and his bachelor, it's free." Angelo lit the candle in the middle of the table and gave them a wink. "You call me if you need anything."

"Well, that was interesting." John smiled and flipped through the menu. "How do you know Angelo?"

"I got him off the hook for a murder case, some time ago." Sherlock didn't even open his menu, and instead sipped some ice water. "I proved that he was breaking into a house across town at the same time the murder was committed."

"This man proved my innocence," Angelo said from the counter, obviously listening to every word. "He's a good man."

"I proved you innocent of _murder_," Sherlock emphasized, with an imperceptibly small smile on his face.

"Still, I wouldn't have my life if not for him," Angelo bustled around to the table again. "Have you picked something out?"

"I'll have the alfredo," Sherlock said, still not having touched his menu.

"Chicken carbonara?" John requested, politely.

"Of course! White or red wine?" Angelo grabbed the menus and swiftly headed to the kitchen.

"Red, please, Angelo!" Sherlock called after him. "If that's alright with you, John?"

"Yeah, that's fine," John agreed. He wasn't sure how Sherlock did it, but everyone he met either was fond of the detective or hated him. And John was firmly in the former category.

X

John was heading to the bathroom when Angelo cut him off.

"Listen, Mr Bachelor," Angelo said shortly. "He's a good man. Treat him right."

"I... plan to?" John said, calmly. He expected this conversation from fathers, not ex-clients who owned restaurants. "I like Sherlock, a lot. I'm not going to treat him badly."

"Good," Angelo said firmly. "You don't break his heart."

"Or else?" John joked. He hoped Angelo really wasn't a murderer.

"No. Just don't." Angelo looked serious, solemn, and also very worried. This was clearly important. "He doesn't deserve that from anyone."

John couldn't agree more.

X

They made it back to 221B only to find a note from Mrs Hudson:

_Went to visit Mrs Turner. I'll be back around 11. Behave, boys! ;)_

The winking smiley face really gave off the scandalous impression John was sure that she had intended. He watched Sherlock discard it and sit down heavily on the couch.

"Water?" John asked, finding some glasses on the table.

"Yes, please," Sherlock sighed, not paying attention as John headed straight for the freezer. He turned when he heard the door open. And shut again.

"Sherlock," John said, tone forcibly neutral. Suddenly he was horribly aware of what Sally had said to him. "There are body parts in the freezer."

Sherlock was blushing. Furiously. Which he supposed was better than shock or denial or anger. "They're for experiments."

"What experiments?" Oh God, John didn't want to know, did he? Was this going to be the state of affairs? "No, skip that. Where did you get them?"

Sherlock stood up looking miffed. It almost made John want to laugh. "I killed them myself," he snapped, offended sarcasm tingeing his words. "The _morgue_, John. Where dead people and their bits go after they die."

"Is that legal?" John asked, coming around to the couch.

"They were all acquired legally, yes." Sherlock paced for a bit. "And I use them to study different posthumous reactions in human tissue. It's relevant to my cases."

John nodded. Well, that was a relief. Body parts in the freezer aren't normal. But nothing with Sherlock ever was. At least his fear of _Sherlock: Murderer_ was unfounded. John knew an honest explanation when he heard one. And Sherlock - while he probably _could_ murder someone, judging by his callousness towards people - wasn't that kind of person. He put murderers in jail. Stooping to their level would just be degrading for the detective.

Sherlock kept pacing in silence.

"You can just end this now, you know," the detective finally said, a harsh melancholy in his words. "I'm not a normal date. You might as well accept it and just move on. The women are more deserving of your attention anyway."

Well, that hit John right in the gut. No, the women were not somehow more deserving than Sherlock. Beautiful, intelligent, eyeballs-in-the-freezer, Sherlock. That wasn't right. It wasn't right for him to think that.

"Sherlock," John said, sharply. "Sit down."

It took a second of staring before the detective moved to sit beside him. John could have sworn he saw a wince as Sherlock looked away. That wasn't what he wanted.

"Sherlock, listen to me," John said, looking at Sherlock's downturned face. He really hated not making eye contact. "You are just as deserving as anyone. And eyeballs or fingers, or whatever it is you have in there is not going to change my mind."

Sherlock glanced up, then, dark curls drooping across his brow. And John felt a stir inside of him. Sherlock was _handsome_, and John was _very_ attracted to him. And this wasn't the most inappropriate of moments.

John felt Sherlock's hand settle on his own.

"You shouldn't put up with this," he said, calmly. "No one else would."

"I'm not anyone else," John said, carefully. "And I want this."

John's lips landed on Sherlock's before the detective had time to react. Sitting there, lips pressed together, and hands clasped, John let himself go. He felt attracted to Sherlock and Sherlock obviously was attracted to him. Sexually. And not only was this still new and exciting, but it was also accompanied by the fact that they loved each other, and all their emotions had been lined up and assembled and made to work. The physical component of an emotional relationship wanted to culminate right there on the couch.

And, for all the right and wrong reasons, John was about to let it.

He felt Sherlock's hand grasp the bottom of his shirt, teasing the edge, pulling it up just high enough that the other man's fingers brushed bare skin. That little bit of friction was all the encouragement John needed. Tongues sliding against each other, John slowly started on Sherlock's shirt buttons, working the garment open while hands crawled across his back and stomach, caressing and moving like they were exploring new territory. The caresses were slower than before, but just as electric, the first gasp of skin on skin sending a shiver through John, a splinter of the touches he was craving. John pressed himself against Sherlock, tighter, feeling the taller man writhe into his touches. He gasped and broke away from Sherlock who was heaving in heavy breathes, desperately trying to breathe.

In that pause, Sherlock roughly pulled off John's jumper, and shimmied out of his own shirt, throwing it somewhere on the floor.

And John smirked. Sherlock was obviously game.

A small nip to the detective's neck started a moan, and John steered him back against the couch, half-laying on top of the other man. Sherlock's hips bucked sharply as John put more pressure on his neck. John was hard, and he could feel Sherlock was too. It was a passionate tangle, limbs intertwined, mouths and hands everywhere. There wasn't anything to slow them down. Even the camera had backed out of the room.

John didn't care, though. This whole day was about Sherlock, and Sherlock needed this as badly as John did.

He slipped a hand beneath the waistband of Sherlock's trousers, hearing the other man groan, and sliding it down across his buttocks, when he heard the cough. Sherlock's moan cut off, but John didn't freeze immediately. He bit gently at Sherlock's throat and twisted a bit, roughly dragging his own body against the other man's. Sherlock whimpered, and writhed involuntarily underneath him, though he seemed to be attempting to hold still.

"Ahem," came an oddly familiar voice. That's when John froze. And practically stared at the very poised Mycroft Holmes sitting in the armchair. Awkward.

John jumped off Sherlock, scrambling for his jumper, while Sherlock just closed his eyes and made a very strangled noise. Well. That make out session was over. Trust the creepy older brother to kill your hard-on.

"Hello, Mycroft," John squeaked. Well, that took embarrassed to another level.

"Hello, John," Mycroft replied with a nod.

"I don't want to know how much you paid the cameramen, or how long you've been there," Sherlock said, not moving from his position, face blushing a brand new shade of intense red, "but Mycroft, I swear to god, there are times that I want to kill you, then bury you, then dig you up again just to mutilate the body."

"Well, this is supposed to be a family visit," Mycroft said coolly. "I wanted to stop in and see your boyfriend."

"You've already met him." Sherlock's tone was hard-edged, but not carrying much weight. Lying on a couch, shirtless, wasn't exactly the most intimidating position.

"Well, yes. But now we're getting closer. You might be engaged to him in another week."

John's insides cringed. This wasn't what he wanted to think about right now. He hadn't needed to consider Sarah or Laura or Karen before this. Thinking about them now just made a hard rock of guilt settle in to the bottom of his stomach.

"I might not be, as well," Sherlock intoned, forcibly neutral. John wished he knew what the other man was thinking. "I'm sure you're not helping my chances and I really didn't need you to see this."

Mycroft said nothing. John slipped his jumper back on before trying to pick up the conversation.

"So, ah, how have you been?" Alright, so it was a _weak_ attempt to pick up the conversation. But it was an attempt.

"Well, thank you," Mycroft said with the authority of a lord. "And I see you and Sherlock have been as well. I hope you know my earlier comments still stand."

"Mycroft, if you threaten him into a decision I will tell _Mummy_." Somehow that sentence sounded like far more of a threat when it came from Sherlock.

"Fine," the other brother sighed. "I suppose I should let him woo...or, well...woo you in peace."

"You already know everything you could want to, anyhow. Don't tell me you don't have surveillance on the production."

Oh, and that was John's cue to blush. Hopefully Mycroft had left them some shreds of privacy.

"Yes, and you're quite the gentleman, Sherlock," Mycroft said without a hint of sarcasm. "But no one can fault me for wanting to keep tabs on my younger brother."

"I can," Sherlock grumbled. He sat up abruptly, grabbed his shirt from the floor and yanked it on with one violent stroke. John tried not to be distracted by the visible sliver of white chest. Sherlock really needed to be more aware of attractive he was.

Mycroft sighed. "I just wanted to tell you that Mummy sends her best wishes. She's very excited about all of this and was rather put out when she couldn't make it to these introductions."

"She only can't make it because you keep her away from having any form of identifiable image," Sherlock snapped. "Tell Mummy she'll get to meet him eventually if this goes any further. But if it doesn't, I'm blaming you."

John didn't believe Sherlock, and obviously neither did Mycroft, who smirked as he stood up.

"Well, then. I'd better be off. Keep your shirts on, lovebirds." And like that, the older Holmes was gone.

"I am so sorry," Sherlock murmured, buttoning his shirt up. John wasn't sure quite what the heartfelt apology was for.

"It's alright. I still had a wonderful day." John leaned over and kissed Sherlock on the lips. Sherlock smiled. "No apologies necessary."

"Thank you, John."

X

John had gotten home long before Mrs Hudson's scheduled return time, with nothing to show for it but a churning stomach. And he knew what he was going to have to do the next day. He slept fitfully, and just long enough to make sure he was functionally rested.

The next evening was spent filming him in a room with pictures of the three women and Sherlock. He was supposedly agonizing, while they stood awkwardly in the next room. John didn't need to agonize, but he supposed tension had to be built somehow. At least they hadn't made him chatter with Dave. That was supposed to be part of the process.

When they finally sent him out to the rose ceremony, John was mentally exhausted. All four of them looked terrified, and he knew there was going to be crying. Why did every scenario have to be a bad one?

"Ladies and gentleman," Dave said smoothly. "This week has been monumental in terms of your relationships with John. He has now met your families, and moved even closer to each of you. But there are only three roses on this tray. That means one of you is going home tonight. John, when you're ready."

John didn't hesitate. He couldn't. Not anymore.

"Sarah," he said, quietly. She came up to him. "Will you accept this rose?"

"Yes," she murmured, kissing him lightly on the cheek and taking her flower. One down.

"Sherlock," he called next. Sherlock looked like he had just been saved from dying. Relief flooded his face as he came up to take his rose. "Will you accept this rose?"

"Of course," he replied, clutching the flower tightly. John made sure to kiss him gently before he went back to his place.

"Laura," he said calmly, watching Karen's face fall. She didn't cry though, and Laura came up to him with a smile. "Will you accept this rose?"

"I will," she said, cheerily, hugging him tightly and taking the flower back to her place in line. Dave reappeared.

"Karen, if you'd like to say your goodbyes..." Karen walked up to John and took his hand.

"Walk me out?" she asked, quietly. John nodded.

"Karen..."

"It's okay, John," she said, as they walked towards the car. "I knew this was over."

"I just don't think you're ready for this kind of commitment yet. Your family is top priority, and they can't handle you marrying someone right now. And I think that would really hurt you." John spilled out everything he had thought about, all his reasoning, and he hoped she could appreciate his honesty.

She did. "I know, and you're right," she sighed. "I'm not ready. I've got to break out on my own, but it's going to take a while. You visiting made me realize that."

"Are you going to be alright?" John asked, standing in front of the car. She nodded.

"I'll be fine. Eventually." That was when the tears started. "Just promise you'll stop by some time?"

"I will," John promised, hoping he could keep it. There was the possibility he would be shot if he came near that vineyard again.

"Thank you," she whispered, and climbed in to the back seat of the car.

X

"I knew it was coming, but I can't stop crying," Karen bawled to the camera, tears flooding across her cheeks and tears dripping form her chin. "It's totally fair; it's totally right, but I want John to wait for me and he _can't_. He just can't. I want him to be there in a few years when I'm ready, and he won't be and I don't know if I can handle this."

A sob broke through tirade, and she clutched her chest. Curled into a fetal position.

"I just don't know."

X

John felt terrible about Karen. He really did. But he felt better that she knew this was the right choice. At least with that, she was also going in the right direction. She could make it, and she'd find someone right. John could tell.

But now he had to deal with the torment of knowing what the next week brought. Overnight dates. The producers had actually come and confirmed with him that these three people were definitely his top choices. Then they reminded him that he didn't _have_ to sleep with anyone. It's just strongly implied that he _should_.

John wasn't sure treating each person like they were in a separate world would work this time. In fact, he knew it wouldn't. He was probably just going to have to accept the fact that he would feel guilty for the rest of his life about the next few days. And he needed to somehow come to terms with what he had to do.

And then he thought about Sherlock and panicked. Not the idea of having sex with Sherlock. That was clearly fine. They had almost been there when Mycroft interrupted. John was going to die of humiliation when he next saw that man. Absolutely _die_. But more importantly? He had _no_ experience with gay sex. None. Whatsoever. And there was absolutely no chance that Sherlock knew what to do, either. That needed to be fixed _immediately._

At least he knew what he was doing when it came to the women. But then again, he knew what he was doing _to_ all of them. Cheating might not be the right word, but it certainly expressed the sentiment.

John felt sick.


	9. Episode 9

For those of you who haven't seen the updated summary, please note the rating change for this week's episode!

Episode Nine

John had one day to himself once they reached Venice. And he was spending it in the hotel's internet café with Dave hovering over his shoulder. A small part of him wanted to knock the grin off the host's face. The rest of him wanted to melt into the floor.

His date with Sherlock wasn't even first. He didn't even know if they would _do_ anything on that date. But that's what he was obsessing over. And honestly, he really just didn't know what to do. And he was pretty sure Sherlock didn't either.

He had the general basics down. He was a man, after all; he understood how he liked things, sexually. And he was doctor. He knew where to find a prostate and where nerve groupings could be found. What he needed to know was how to take those two elements and combine them into something that someone _else_ of the same gender would enjoy during sex.

That's where the internet came in.

And, yes, he was willing to put up with the awkward fact that all of his internet activity was monitored. Even though that meant pulling up webpages like "Gay Sex Tips 101" while Dave repressed a snicker behind him. John would be laughing with him, if he wasn't feeling so humiliated.

But he wanted to make sure that this date went smoothly. And, damn it, this was the only way he could think of to do so. If it hadn't have been for Mycroft, they probably would have fumbled their way through some awkward handjobs on their last date. At the time, John would have been okay with that. But immediately afterwards he had started to feel ridiculous. He wasn't fifteen anymore. He had _had_ better sex than groping on the couch. And Sherlock deserved better than that. Especially if it was his first time. Though thinking about that possibility took John's nervousness up more than a few notches, it also gave him a sense of determination. If they were going to do this, they should at least do it right.

_If _they were going to do this. If John could do _any_ of this.

The sick feeling settled into his stomach again. He really didn't believe deep down that he could do any of this. But he was going to try. Because he'd spent so much time with these girls and Sherlock, and they deserved his best efforts. ...If they even accepted the damn key..

If he thought any harder about this he was going to be ill. At least research on gay sex was helping distract him.

Hopefully he could block out his problems and push through these dates. He needed to. For everyone's sake.

X

Sherlock glared at Sarah as she walked through the door of the hotel lobby and took a seat beside him. He was bristling at her closeness, not wanting to even see her, at the moment. Much less make idle chit chat while they wait for the hotel to give them their rooms. Separate rooms, thankfully. No more of this common room nonsense.

Obviously the producers could _sense_ when their contestants were a good excuse away from killing each other.

And all it once it was obvious that his jealousy wasn't gone, but rather more intense and loaded with a new sense of hatred than before. However the difference was this time Sherlock didn't care. He'd never see this woman again, and he was too fucking tired to be corteous or to pretend they weren't directly competing for John.

"How have you been, Sherlock?" she asked politely, shifting her bag to beside her chair. Sherlock ignored her. If she knew what was good for her, she'd just stop talking and leave him alone..

She obviously didn't though. With a heavy sigh, she continued talking.

"Look. I'm not too pleased with you either, alright? It's part of the nature of this whole production. But I'm not being a child about it. We don't have to like each other to be civil."

Sherlock didn't look at her. Fuck, was she always this perfect? This was ridiculous, she should be more angry and…insecure like he was? No, why would she be? She was going to win. Sherlock decided that now was not the best of times to go down that road of thought.

Sarah waited patiently for the response as the awkward silence stretched out several seconds. Sherlock knew she was still staring at his face, but fuck it, if she wanted a conversation she would have to go to her stash of adorable woodland creatures, fairies and gumdrops. He wasn't about to give her the satisfaction of eye contact.

"I don't care for false pretenses and pleasantries," Sherlock finally retorted. He was _not_ going to make nice with this woman just because they should. Social protocol be damned; he never followed those rules anyway.

Sarah frowned and settled back into her chair, distracting herself with Laura's entrance.

"Hello, Laura," she said with a wave. Laura waved back, took a seat and looked directly at Sherlock. He noticed her face pale a bit as she greeted him.

"Hello, Sarah. Sherlock." Ah, another person who was less than happy with him for vying for John's affections. "How have you both been doing?"

"Quite well, thanks," Sarah answered. She continued when Sherlock didn't say anything. "It was nice to be home for a little while. Being away from family has been hard."

"Yeah, I agree," Laura said, wistfully. "I'm glad to be back, though."

"And to see John again?" Sarah said with a wink. "We all want that."

Ugh. They did. But did they have to talk about it? He was doing his best to forget John's other romantic interests. Laura apparently thought the same. She changed the subject.

"It's too bad we all have separate rooms, now, though. I'm going to miss sharing the telly and having someone to talk to."

She looked at Sherlock. Who ignored her. There was no way she actually missed fighting with him over what show they were watching, or getting blunt answers to her questions. She probably just wanted him to back up her sentiments. And he certainly wasn't going to.

Instead, Sherlock closed his eyes, steepled his fingers, and _waited_ for the hotel to free him from his torment.

X

John knocked on Steve's door before he went back to his room for the night. When he saw him, Steve immediately ushered him into the room and gestured at a chair. John sat down heavily.

"What's on your mind, John?" He took a seat himself, in the chair beside the bed. He looked comfortable.

John only wished he could feel comfortable right now. But he had to do this. He was going to go into this prepared, damn it.

"I just wanted to know if we'd have any sort of... supplies, I guess, for the overnight dates." He wasn't blushing. Nope, not at all. Firm denial. "To make sure we were prepared. Does the production cover that?"

Steve laughed, and John felt himself shrink into the chair. Fine, he was blushing. But anyone would be, right now.

"No worries, John. They've all been checked for STDs - very thoroughly, I may add. We've got good doctors. And there will condoms in the room." Steve winked cheekily. John tried to force a half-smile on to his face. "We wouldn't want any pregnancies down the road."

"Right, definitely not," John said. And then braced himself for the next question. "What about lubrication?"

"They're all young; they shouldn't need it. And if they did, they'd probably be prepared for that themselves." Steve shrugged.

"For Sherlock," he added. Steve's eyebrow raised high. Suddenly he was serious. John wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

"I see. You're right, the staff didn't prepare for that element. I'll send someone out to get some tomorrow. You'll have it by Sherlock's date."

Steve laced his fingers and sat in thought.

"Thank you," John replied, standing. It was time to get out while he still could.

"John?" Steve asked quietly.

"Yeah?"

"I did let you know that nothing had to happen, right?"

"Yeah, you did." John squeezed his eyes closed. Apparently no one expected Sherlock to make it past this date.

"Alright, then. Just checking." Steve stood up. He didn't seem angry. Just quiet. John wondered if he was ruining Steve's ratings by having a strong relationship with Sherlock. Maybe.

Maybe Steve didn't know yet.

Either way, John couldn't bring himself to care about Steve and his stupid production rules. He was going through this for Sherlock and Sarah and Laura, and he was damn well going to do what he felt was right for each of them.

It was hard not to slam the door as he left.

X

The production crew had lined the three of them up, and Dave was hovering in front of them, ready to give his speech. The crew gave the signal.

"Alright, ladies, Sherlock, we've reached a very important moment in your relationships. This week, we're having overnight dates."

Overnight dates? Suddenly, Sherlock didn't like the sound of this.

"Each of you will get an entire day with John, and at the end of that day he may offer you the key to the Bachelor's fantasy suite. If you accept, you will spend one magical night with your bachelor."

Disgusting turn of phrase aside, Sherlock was suddenly very aware of what the girls had been chattering about before this. Apparently he was expected to sleep with John this week. On national television.

"I though this was a family-oriented show?" He asked, sharper than he intended to. But, really, he thought they deserved that right now. Pressuring people to have sex for ratings with the feeble excuse of 'furthering relationships' was about as low as a snake that had been unceremoniously run over by a lorry.

Dave smirked a little. Sherlock suppressed the urge to run across the room and strangle him with his bare hands. "The cameras will leave you alone after you arrive at the suite. Whatever you do will be off record. We give you the freedom to do or not do what you want."

Oh. So they just heavily _imply_ the sex. So much more comforting.

He _wanted_ to have sex with John. Not a problem there. He'd been ready for that for awhile now, and he had no regrets about anything they'd done so far. But he definitely wasn't comfortable with possibly looking like a whore on national television. And, oh boy, wasn't he in for a day of awful dilemmas.

Dave sent them to their rooms. Sherlock immediately got out his violin and sat heavily on the bed. This was going to require a lot of thinking, but he was determined to do it. Both for himself and for John. .

X

The next morning, John met Laura in an area of mainland Venice that his guides kept referring to as _Mestre_. Basically, it was a nice and heavily populated area of the town. They were in for a day of wandering around and shopping and sightseeing. None of these final dates were very exciting, really. He was supposed to be getting to the heart of his relationships, which meant a lot of emotional talking, and a lot of just spending time together.

Which was fine with him. He needed that kind of time anyway.

Laura kissed him firmly on the cheek when she got there.

"This looks great, John," she whispered, eyes glowing with excitement. "What's in store for today?"

John wrestled out his tourist map to show her. It was the one piece of equipment he had been provided with.

"Sightseeing?" he asked, rhetorically. "I've got a map, and a good sense of direction, and there's a clock tower right over there to start with."

"Sounds amazing," Laura said with a wink. There was a big smile on her face, and John was reminded of their date last week. She was still energetic and excited, and he really enjoyed spending his time with her. She obviously really enjoyed time with him as well.

"Come on, John," she said tugging him gently. "If you don't start walking we'll just stand here all day."

"Right," John said, snapping himself out of it. It was time to just let go of any lingering doubts about later and keep his mind on sightseeing with Laura.

And he was damn well going to love it. For her sake.

X

Sherlock had been staring at the ceiling for hours at this point. He hadn't slept. He _had_ slapped on a nicotine patch. Only one, though - he had a very limited ration of them for the time being. Just enough for him to try to think above the buzzing emotions. And his fluttering heartbeat.

There was so much wrong with this situation. So much. He knew they couldn't force him into doing _anything_ nor would they. John definitely wouldn't. But the problem was that he genuinely wanted to. They had been getting more physical over the last few weeks, and they had been so close last week. If not for his damn brother.

He made a firm mental note to do something nasty to his older sibling whenever he returned to London. Force feed him cake, fuck up his cases, steal his damn umbrella, _something_.

The problem was the fact that John was probably going to sleep with all of them. The man seemed to have a very firm belief that he should do right in his relationships. Treat them all separately. Sherlock loved the fact that he was trying to be fair. And hated the fact that John might think that meant having sex with each o them. Or not anyone. Or just the person he had chosen already.

And Sherlock might not be that person. That was... terrifying right now. He was up against Laura, and perfect, _perfect_ Sarah. He didn't stand a chance. But at this point? He thought he was in love. At the very least, he knew that this was the strongest relationship he had ever built. And he wanted to keep it.

He wanted John. That was abundantly clear. But he didn't want to look like the equivalent of Amanda or Stephanie on national television.

Yes, yes, he wouldn't look like a whore if he _won_. But the chances of that? Nil.

John did look like worse than he did. That was in the plus category. At least Sherlock's embarrassment was just with one person and a rejection. John had three sessions of sleeping around to get through.

They had almost had sex anyway. On a couch, in front of a camera. And John was obviously interested. Or at least, had been last week. There _were_ chances he was having second thoughts. But Sherlock wasn't.

And maybe - just this once - he wanted to have something without giving a shit what his reputation looked like. He wanted John. He wanted that one, singular night of with him. Especially if he couldn't have it forever. This was the strongest feeling he'd ever had. The least he could do was consummate it.

He also had a feeling that John Watson might represent his only chance at any kind of meaningful relationship...and well, love. That thought sat heavily, dragging his heart into his stomach. Had it really come to this so soon? The emotion was just overpowering and the fact that he wasn't going to win, made him wonder what kind of state he'd go home in. Pathetic, broken, lost. But that wasn't the issue at hand and Sherlock stubbornly refused to think about it more than that. He had stayed and he would fucking get through this.

When he was rejected and sent home, he would deal with the aftermath.

If he _could_ deal with the aftermath.

X

They had had lunch on a bench near the clock tower they had started by. Laura had been really enthusiastic about going from place to place, and stopping into cathedrals and shops and parks. John felt like they had seen the whole city in the four hours they had spent running around.

"This is so much fun." Laura chomped down on her sandwich and swallowed a bite. "Going out with you is always so perfect."

"Same to you," John replied, quite happily enjoying his food. "You're so energetic. Everything is fun with you."

"Good." Laura laughed. "If I couldn't make things fun, I'd want you to tell me now."

"I don't think you have to worry about that." John knew she didn't. They smiled at each other and lapsed in to silence. They both knew what conversation was coming next. It was unavoidable.

Mind you, John was fine with that. They needed a chat anyway.

"So, ah, I guess we should talk about our relationship." Okay, lame and forced start there, John. But you can recover. Just be smooth. "About where you see 'us' going."

Smooth. Right.

Laura didn't seem to notice though. In fact, she was looking kind of pale and worried, very suddenly. John knew it was a hard question to think about. Especially when your answer could mean that everything was over. Normal couples didn't have this much pressure on them.

"When I'm with you," she started, very slowly, "I feel like I've known you forever. Like you're my best friend from when I was six or someone I've always had around. It felt really right for you to come meet my family."

She seemed to struggle for a moment, but John was patient. He wasn't going to rush her through anything or demand a hard response. He honestly just wanted to know.

"I want you to be there after this. No matter if you choose me or not. I don't want you to not be in my life, no matter what."

Her eyes were so earnest, and she grabbed his hands for a moment. And just sat. Her words were lost in her throat. So John picked up.

"Do you think we have more than a friendship, though?"

"Of course," she said. But her smile was weak and she couldn't quite look him in the eye.

And all of a sudden, John had to wonder whether he had broken this girl, or the competition had.

X

Billy really hadn't signed up for this part of the job. What he had been told about this internship was that he would be doing a lot of camera work and helping out with the editing process. No one mentioned fetching coffee, or spending hours doing set up, or standing in the rain waiting for packages to arrive. And yet, somehow he had ended up doing all of those things. And more.

And now he was standing in a pharmacy staring at the shelves. Wondering which brand of lube would be the best for gay sex.

They had basically told him to get the cheapest stuff available. But that wasn't really right, and, honestly? He felt like screwing them a bit. Fuck these guys and their backhanded errands. It wasn't his fault they were too embarrassed to go get the stuff themselves. He would damn well get something nice and expensive.

The problem really boiled down to choices. Warms on contact? No silicone? Water-based? Coloured? Flavoured? Squeeze tube or pump style?

Seriously. This wasn't what he wanted to be doing on summer break. He was supposed to be taking a fun internship. Lots of silly women running around, playing with camera angles, editing out swear words and cutting film to be interesting and poignant, _and_ fit into a two hour segment. He liked that kind of stuff.

This was just ridiculous. KY or Astroglide? He didn't really care. Though the fact that the gay relationship they had thrown in for a dramatic twist was actually happening was hilarious.

He should definitely get a squeeze tube. Easy to use, easy to grab. And probably stay away from flavoured, coloured, or warming. They might not like any of those things. And that really wasn't his choice.

So the real goal here was to find the most expensive bottle of the normal stuff. He could do that.

Fuck. This was the last time he did any sort of internship. Really. No pay, tons of work, and absolutely awful experiences. One day off in Venice? Totally not fair.

The cashier gave him a weird look when he came to the counter. He tried to ignore her, but the repressed snort of laughter when he asked for a receipt was a bit difficult to not hear. Weren't cashiers supposed to be used to this kind of stuff?

He didn't really care. As soon as they got back to London, he was quitting this shit.

X

John and Laura sat down for dinner in a lush Italian garden. It was a beautiful, solitary table among the leaves and vines, set up so the two of them could have time alone. Laura had gasped in delight when she first saw it.

John had to agree. The whole thing was beautiful.

But as they sat, he was bracing himself. Gritting his teeth, so to speak. Soon enough he would be handing her a key and possibly taking her back to a room. And he wasn't sure he was ready for that step yet. But he was going to try. For her sake. And fuck it, he was just going to get it over with. He got the envelope out with a little rustle.

"Laura," he said, stomach turning with nervousness. She looked at him and saw the paper. "I've got something for you."

He passed the envelope with the key and note to her. She took it in silence, and held it, not opening or reading it. Just holding.

"John," she said after a moment. She paused again. "John, I can't do this."

He could feel his eyebrows shoot up. That was a shock. Somewhere in the gritting his teeth for the overnight with Laura he had forgotten that she may not want the key or want to be with him. When had he gotten so arrogant? He would be disgusted with himself later. Right now he just wanted to know what had gone wrong.

"Why not?" Asking directly was always a good route. She looked pale.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered as the first few tears splashed down her face. "I wanted this so bad and we spent weeks together and I really do love you, but, just... I can't."

John tried not to feel so relieved. But it was a lot of pressure off his chest. And that lack of pressure left him free to comfort her properly.

"Laura, it's okay," he said, leaning over and giving her a hug. She clutched at his arm and sobbed.

"It's not okay." She shook her head violently then buried herself in his arms. "I'm supposed to love _you_ and I just spent so much more time with him and he was so smart and aloof and mysterious... I just... I..."

The sob shook through John's arm. He wasn't sure what to say. In fact, he was pretty sure anything he said would make things worse for both of them. She was talking about Sherlock.

"You've fallen for Sherlock?" He sounded far calmer than he thought he would be able to. But really, he could understand where she was coming from. After all, _he_ had fallen for Sherlock.

"Yeah," she sniffed, slowly regaining control. "I think I love him."

"Have you told him?" John didn't know why he said it. It seemed like the right thing to do. But it twisted in his gut like a hot iron.

"Not yet, no," she said. "I'm not sure how he would take it. But I want to. I have to. I might not see him after this and I need to say something."

John wasn't okay with this. But he needed to be. No options. God knows how close they had become. They had lived together. They had actually _had_ time together, alone, in a domestic setting. He hadn't had that yet. And maybe Sherlock wanted someone he already knew he could live with. Laura obviously got along fine with him.

All of a sudden, it struck John that he wasn't the only option. He went from being the person in charge to having no power at all, in one brief moment. And he hadn't managed to see how much in love he was before this. One girl crying over Sherlock could now upturn the very unsteady footing that he had called reality.

John Watson was scared. And he didn't know what to do about it.

X

The cameras followed Laura all the way back to the hotel. John was trailing behind, not quite sure what to do with himself. He wanted to support her, but he just couldn't. Because he didn't want Sherlock to leave him. And there was a chance he would.

Laura paused when she got to Sherlock's door. John could imagine her stomach was in knots. He didn't care. He was bordering somewhere between jealous and terrified. His stomach was in knots too.

It took a moment of hovering before she got up the nerve to knock firmly on Sherlock's door. The loud raps seemed to echo through the dead silence of the hallway. And they waited.

John waited until he saw that familiar head of dark curls peer through a crack in the door.

X

Sherlock wasn't sure why Laura was standing outside his door. He didn't really want to know, but he supposed he should ask.

"Why are you here?" It had been a long, sleepless day. And he had expected her to be lying in bed with John right now, and he was trying to adjust himself to the idea of doing the same. It was a very complex process. His brain wasn't really agreeing with his heart.

"Can I come in?" Laura asked meekly. She looked like she had been crying and he spotted John hovering in the hall. Interesting.

He unchained the lock and let her and the cameramen in. Might as well find out what she wanted.

He didn't sit. She didn't either.

"So?" He really just wasn't feeling nice right now.

"Um." She fidgeted. Nervous. "I just finished my date with John. And I wanted to see you."

"Why?" Hadn't he offered her the key? That seemed more callous than John usually was.

"Because, I refused the key." Why did that necessitate a visit to see him? She looked pale and tired. Sherlock really didn't feel like breaking down her wishy-washy emotions right now. He just wanted to go back to working through his own problems. It took her a minute to regain her voice.

"Because I'm in love with you."

What? No. Oh, no, not possible. That really did not making any fucking sense. He could see missing Amanda's overtures (he grudgingly admitted), but this was something else. Obviously Laura was completely serious and completely sure and that suggested a much deeper kind of process, one that any idiot should have been able to see. How had he not seen something like this coming? Because of that, he was utterly furious with himself.

"We barely spoke to each other except to bicker!" he caught himself exclaiming. It was true, though. He fought with her over the remote. Spoiled her soap operas. Ruined movies. Bickered about temperature. They hadn't had a single interaction that could have been interpreted as "romantic."

"I liked bickering with you." Oh, there was something wrong with this woman. And she was starting to tear up again. "I could fight with you over the remote every day for the rest of our lives, but I think I want you to be with me."

This was absurd to the point of being almost laughable now. Cheesy cliché phrases aside. She couldn't possibly think she had a chance with this, could she? He could honestly say he didn't feel anything towards her other than mild camaraderie. And even that was questionable. This was just a disaster and one that he wasn't in any way prepared for, yet again. How do normal people go through these kinds of situations without shooting themselves or the other person in the face? Deciding what to do was taking too long, as he looked at her crying face. She was wringing her hands, nervously, waiting and he didn't know what to tell her. As his indecision was stretching the awkward silence into uncomfortable oblivion he knew had to say something, _anything_ soon. So he figured the gentle but honest approach would be the best route.

"I... can't say I feel the same." Sherlock tried to control his tone, hoping that none of his anger or annoyance would filter through.

She immediately choked up. Tears and sobbing, and hiding her face in her hands. Sherlock didn't have a clue what to say. "I'm sorry?"

Damn it. Why couldn't John come in after her? He was good at this kind of thing. Very good. Sherlock had seen him gently reject women for weeks now.

"No, it's... No." Laura shook her head violently. "I just want to go home now."

She practically ran out of the room. Sherlock followed her to the doorway, only to see her sobbing on John's shoulder, with John petting her hair and telling her it would be alright. And something in him fluttered. She was leaving. She didn't want John and actually wanted him instead That was ludicrous - John was an amazing, _good_, supportive man. Sherlock was not any of those things. He was a terrible person.

That was exactly why he stood no chance of winning this competition. John deserved better.

And now he stood there and watched John comfort a woman and wondered if he would get a little bit of pity before he went home. Maybe some affection and a gentle caress. Fingers in his hair.

He wanted that. It was stupid and emotional and went against all his cold logic. But he wanted that.

That was _exactly_ why he would go through with that date tomorrow. He couldn't have it forever, but for one day he was damn well going to pretend.

X

Laura had packed up and left, quietly, after John had held her for a while. She was still upset and pretty shaky but she had perked up enough to tell him to call her before the wedding; apparently, she wanted to make him his suit.

He might take her up on that offer. But for now? He was just so relieved. So incredibly relieved that Sherlock had decided to stay. He didn't know if he was choosing Sherlock or Sarah. In fact, he was confused and tired and uncertain of everything. But having Laura reject him and then having Sherlock reject Laura had brought him a new focus. He didn't want the consulting detective to go home just yet. Or to leave him.

Because John Watson may have been scared, but he was also powerless. His emotions had taken over a while ago, without him noticing. He wasn't the only man out there. Or woman. And he never would be the only option. Sherlock could decide to waltz out of his life and never speak to him again. Sarah could fall in love with the bellhop, or the guy at the coffee shop. There was no real reason for either of them to want him. But he wanted them to be here. More than he had ever expected to.

Sherlock, especially had no reason to be here if he didn't want to be. He hadn't come here because he wanted to find true love, or get married. He had just shown up because his brother is a jerk and he himself was bored. Nothing complex about that. Nothing to keep him here but his affection for John. Which John flattered himself to think he had. But it wasn't necessarily strong enough. And if Sherlock wanted to leave, he was helpless to stop it.

And now he had two relationships that he really wanted to keep. He had to pick one soon. He was getting ready to make that decision. But at least, for now, he knew what he was going to do about it.

He was going to go out with Sherlock tomorrow and have a date he would never forget. Because at the very least, he was going to see exactly where both these relationships took him.

That was what he wanted.

And the only way he would ever be able to make a decision.

X

St. Mark's Square was bustling very typically the next morning, when Sherlock arrived. John was excited. Laura had been an emotional catalyst. At this point? He was over an emotional roadblock of guilt and date was going to be guilt free and enjoyable.

He just hoped Sherlock said yes to the key.

The detective shifted his gorgeous hair out of his eyes. John felt his heart trill, and then felt like a girl. Couldn't he be excited and still not act like a teenager? He was going to have to work on that.

"Hello, John," Sherlock greeted, taking his hand immediately.

"I'm glad you didn't leave last night," John said, frankly. He wanted to talk about this immediately. Sherlock snorted.

"Why would I have?" He sounded dismissive.

"You spent a lot of time with her. And, I don't know if you're bisexual or just gay, but she may have been closer to you than I am." John looked at his feet, and started walking. Just strolling.

"John, I consider myself to be asexual. Excepting you, and your apparently lovable self, I don't feel sexually attracted to anyone and never have." John could feel Sherlock's frown. "And I have no idea why she thought she loved me.. Honestly. She didn't give any indication of being attracted to me."

"Are you sure?" John asked with a laughed. "It wasn't another Amanda?"

Sherlock pulled a face. And blushed at the same time. The end result was hilarious.

"I spent a lot of time bickering with her and she certainly wasn't the worst person to share a common room with, but that's it. We barely even had a full conversation that wasn't about television."

John squeezed his hand. It was reassuring to hear that.

"It may be callous, but I'm glad. She really had me worried last night."

"You had nothing to be jealous about, John," Sherlock said with his sly, knowing smile. John wondered if he could always accurately tell what he was thinking. Deduction should not be telepathy. "If I had a type, it would not be her."

"If you had a type?" John smiled. Sherlock didn't have a type.

"Well, I suppose I _do_ have a type." The sly smile got a bit wider. "You."

X

They had ended up in the Correr Museum, after walking around for a while. They had plans to spend the afternoon exploring the various shops. Maybe look for a souvenir. John was happy.

His planned agenda of "talking about our relationship" was next for Sherlock. He knew he had to have those conversations. They were important, but they didn't feel natural. And conversation was so natural between them, usually.

"I'm not a huge fan of Venetian art," Sherlock admitted confidentially as they explored one of the exhibits. "Most of it is a cheap imitation of what was going on in the rest of Europe, at the time. Or wrapped up in how _Venetian_ it is."

He gestured at the room of portraits. All of which were Venetian political figures.

"These, for example." Sherlock sighed heavily. "Bland portraiture, done in the same style as every other artist at the time. Nothing innovative. It's an interesting collection, but it all screams tourist trap."

"Not one for rich Venetian history?" John asked. Sherlock snorted.

"They built a city on poles in the water. And have had tourists ever since. That's about all the history they have." A few people nearby looked at Sherlock in shock. John just grinned. Trust Sherlock to not mince words for nicety.

"It's a nice romantic place, though." John had chosen it because of its romantic possibilities. It made a good place to get engaged. "I'm glad I got to bring you here."

"I'm glad you brought me." Sherlock's response was hushed but honest. "I want to be here, John."

"And I want you here." John could do this. Emotional discussions didn't have to be embarrassing and awkward. "I think we have a really strong relationship. I can see us living together and working together. I can see this working."

"I hope so." Sherlock sounded hurt. John wasn't sure why, but that sounded like pain. "I want this to work."

"So do I." John reached out and grabbed his hand, giving it a good squeeze. "You're okay with everything, though? I don't want to push anything on you."

They both knew he was asking if Sherlock was okay with having sex with him tonight. It was oblique, but direct. Sherlock squeezed John's hand back.

"Yes. I'm fine." His voice was back to assured. No more vestige of fear or hurt. "With everything that comes later and everything that this date implies. I don't think we really need to drag out an extended conversation on the subject. If you are alright with it, I am as well."

Okay. Alright. So the long awkward "are you sure" conversation didn't have to happen. This was good. Relieving.

"I'm definitely alright with it," John said, feeling happy again. Sherlock wanted this too. "Everything about this is better than alright."

"Good." Sherlock said. "Then there's no need for a debate on the subject.."

Trust Sherlock to not want to talk about the more intricate parts of their relationship. Not that John could blame him. If they got too far into a conversation, he had the feeling that Sarah would come up. And then he wouldn't know what to say, and that might just break Sherlock's heart.

"John, don't get moody about it. You have far less to worry about than I do." Sherlock sighed and started leading him over to a new painting. "If I can handle the pressure, so can you."

"Ah, sorry," John replied. Sherlock was right. It wasn't fair for John to be moping. "You're right, I'm being stupid."

"It's not stupid to _have_ emotions. It's stupid to let them rule your every action." John smiled at the half-insult. This was the Sherlock he knew. A bit of a condescending prick. And he meant that in the fondest way possible.

"Let's go look at the sculptures?" he suggested.

"Whatever you want," Sherlock agreed.

X

They giant arches of Saint Mark's basilica were beautiful. Just through the entrance way, they found themselves in a huge, cavernous, castle-like space. The church was covered in mosaics and art, and John felt himself gawking awkwardly at the sheer scope of the place. He looked very much like one of the awkward tourists.

His hand was yanked sharply, after a moment, and he found himself stumbling quickly after Sherlock, heading towards a dark corner of the room. When they got to a mostly obscured area, Sherlock stopped. Hands pressed on to John's face and a very firm but quick kiss was pressed to his lips.

John's heart skipped in his chest. "What was that for?"

"A bit of a 'fuck you' to the illustrious organized religion. I just couldn't resist." That was the second time today that John had seen Sherlock's Cheshire grin.

X

"John, honestly, I hope you aren't planning on hanging that up anywhere if you come back to Baker Street."

John couldn't be more amused with how much Sherlock hated the mask he had picked out. He thought it was a beautiful souvenir - all gold, with purple feathers and hand painted details. Very _Carnival_. Or at least, he thought so.

"It's a beautiful mask. I'm sure it will look great in the living room." His cheeks were hurting from smiling so much and the shopkeeper was staring at them. John didn't care. "Besides, your only souvenirs are postcards."

"At least postcards aren't tacky." Oh, and there it was. Sherlock was smiling too. Mission: accomplished.

"Neither is my mask."

X

"I can't believe you actually paid money for that ugly thing," Sherlock lamented, as they ate their dinner. Their table for two was the same one that John and Laura had sat at the previous night. Apparently the production budget only allowed for one private dining location in Venice.

Which was fine with John. The food was delicious and the gardens were beautiful. He still couldn't ask for a more perfect setting. It was almost seven thirty, the sun was hovering low on the horizon, and the candlelight made the table even more romantic.

"It's a great mask," John retorted. It was. If only because it came with a memory of Sherlock.

"Whatever you need to believe, John. Your delusions are your own." Sherlock smiled into his spaghetti. John couldn't help but grin as well. The whole day had been spectacular. That was exactly how he liked to explore cities - half culture, half adventure. And Sherlock was the perfect companion. Now he was sitting in the candlelight watching the golden tinges filter through the other man's hair, and appreciating how ... beautiful Sherlock was. Beautiful was an odd descriptor for a man. Normally he'd use handsome or something along those veins. But beautiful was the right word. Dark curls, white skin, blue grey eyes. Sherlock was gorgeous. And amazing.

It was hard to remember what it was like to not be attracted to this man.

It was no wonder Sherlock was also attracting the women in the competition. Laura. Amanda. John really wasn't sure why a man as beautiful and interesting as Sherlock was still single. And the producers had told him to make sure he asked any questions now, rather than later.

"I suppose I should've asked before this," John said quietly. He hesitated. "I think it's obvious that I've had a few girlfriends. In the past."

"Yes, John, I suspected as much," Sherlock said with an eyeroll. "And I am perfectly fine with your sexual history."

"I'm glad." John swallowed hard. "But, ah... how about yours? Have you had any... romances? Dates? Women or men?"

Sherlock was quiet for a moment. But his response was very firm. "No. I haven't. Woman or man."

"Really?" John almost couldn't believe that. "No one?"

The detective seemed to bristle a bit, but it was obviously due to some embarrassment.

"John, I told you right away that this wasn't my area. I meant it." Sherlock was frowning, looking worried, but John smiled and put a hand on his arm. Reassuring.

"I just can't imagine someone as handsome as you, and as intelligent, hasn't picked up even one girlfriend. Or boyfriend." John watched the colour flood into Sherlock's cheeks.

"While I'm flattered, John, I'm pretty sure you're the only person who thinks that of me. Most people find my personality off-putting if not utterly offensive. And, if for some reason they don't, I am inevitably not interested." Sherlock paused, and looked at John, as if searching for his reaction. "The fact that I am both interested in you and comfortable being with you is a very unusual occurrence. Coupled with the fact that you seem to actually _like_ who I am as a person, regardless of socially incorrect jokes and condescending banter and having what can be mildly put as a 'mean streak'? I'll probably never feel something like this again."

John wasn't quite sure what to say to that. He was honoured. And shocked. And yet he thought he might feel the same way.

"I realize I may have sounded too flippant before or indirect. But if nothing else I want you to know that I…" Sherlock paused for a moment, and John could see the weight these words had. It seemed like the detective was actually taking his heart and placing it in John's hands as he slowly continued, his eyes never leaving John's. "JohnWatson, I love you."

Sherlock leaned in to kiss him gently, and went back to eating. John let his emotions twirl inside him. Sherlock loved him. Something warm was crawling its way up his throat. He was trying not to give it a name, but the feeling was defeaning the rest of his senses. He'd already heard this from the detective. But it hadn't meant as much. And right now, it meant everything. He loved Sherlock so much.

He wished he could reciprocate on camera. Instead, John finished off his dinner, and scrambled for his envelope. It was time to pass it over to Sherlock.

Definitely time.

Sherlock had stilled when he heard the rustling. He looked at John with a bit of fear in his eyes, but he accepted the envelope cautiously.

"John and Sherlock," he read carefully. "I hope you're enjoying your day in the magical city of Venice. Should you choose to forgo your individual rooms, please use this key to stay as a _couple_ in the fantasy suite. Yours truly, Dave."

John found it rather creepy that Dave wrote these invitations, rather than himself. He would have preferred to be the person doing the inviting. But he supposed it didn't matter.

Sherlock slowly twisted the key around in his fingers. Inspecting it.

"If you're sure you want to, John." He didn't look up.

"I'm sure. As long as you want to." Sherlock looked at him then. Something raw about his expression.

"That's not a question. Of course, I do. But this is your decision." Somehow this back and forth felt necessary. Like they had to reassure each other or they would always doubt their intentions. But Sherlock had said yes. And John definitely wanted this.

"I want to. Definitely."

"Alright, then."

X

The suite they went to was gorgeous. As expected. It was called a fantasy suite for a reason. The walls were painted in shades of green - darker in the living area, lighter in the bedroom area - with gold and green floor length curtains draped beside the windows, and over the bed. The furniture was all Romanesque, gold-edged and plush. Antique looking.

The camera followed them through the suite, and out to the balcony, which gave them a breathtaking view of the Gulf of Venice. John and Sherlock awkwardly exclaimed at how amazing the suite was and shared a quick peck on the balcony.

Sherlock's eyes were pleading with him though, and John felt the same way. He turned around sharply.

"Look, I know you're supposed to stick around for awhile, but you've got your shot, you've got a kiss, and I really think you should leave now." He was being firm. This was going to be awkward enough without an audience. The least he could do is make sure that this wasn't captured on camera.

The cameraman looked like he would argue.

"Please," John added, quickly. He really just wanted them to go. "I think we could use some privacy."

The cameraman didn't say anything. He wasn't allowed to. John knew that. But he nodded, and backed out of the room. John waited until he heard the suite door close firmly behind the man. Then he collapsed on to the bed.

Sherlock slid in beside him. The bed was huge, but the consulting detective settled against him. Quietly. He felt a hand in his hair.

"We don't have to do anything you don't want, John." John shifted and propped himself up so he could look at Sherlock.

"What would give you the impression that I don't?"

"You seem tired, and I know it's a first for both of us. I don't want you to feel pressured." John sighed and leaned over, pressing his lips to Sherlock and softening into a kiss.

He pulled away examining the detective face before running a hand over his cheek. John wasn't sure of much right now but he was sure he loved this man and he wanted to do this.

"I don't. I'm far more worried about pressuring you." John was being honest. If Sherlock wanted to back out now, he would understand. It was a huge leap. And he refused to hold any trepidation against him.

Sherlock snorted. "Stop worrying and just do it. If I didn't want to, I wouldn't be here."

That was enough for him. John leaned over and kissed Sherlock, feeling hands run down his back, and twining his own hands in dark curls. There was a lot of friction, with Sherlock beneath him on the bed, every part of him touching every part of John. He could feel the softness of his shirt on top of the harsher lines of shoulders and clavicles and hip bones. His hands fumbled for buttons.

Sherlock fumbled back. John felt his shirt being peeled off and pulled back just enough to oblige. Sherlock's hands glided across his shoulders, and lingered on his scar. John watched the intensity in his eyes as the other man gently drew a finger across it. He shuddered. Just exposing his scar felt intimate. To have someone else touch it in a non-medical way was an expression of trust. And he trusted Sherlock. With everything.

A moment of examining in silence lead to Sherlock slipping out of his own unbuttoned shirt and pulling John close to him again. Sherlock was warm. Which John expected, but couldn't seem to reconcile with his cold, white complexion. Every motion brought more heat to his marble skin, and John couldn't get enough. He let his hands wander as he gently nipped at Sherlock's neck. John felt bones just below skin, thin layers of muscle, and the just…smooth, smooth skin. He could feel his arousal growing. Everything about Sherlock was sexy, whether he realized it or not. The way he moved when John touched him, the moans he made when John sucked at his neck. The sensation of another body under him was amazing, but more so because it was _Sherlock_. Untouchable, beautiful Sherlock.

"Ah!" Sherlock gasped. John felt hands tighten on his back. So he bit again, suckled with a little more force and let Sherlock writhe beneath him. Every lap of his tongue or swipe of his teeth brought another groan, and a harder erection. John could feel Sherlock through their remaining clothes. His hands slipped along Sherlock's waistband.

The button to Sherlock's trousers popped open easily. John softly cupped the other man's erection, calmly and deliberately adjusting him to the sensation. His own cock burned for attention, but he was damn well going to start with Sherlock. The other man deserved some quality of consideration, and a very gentle introduction to gay sex. And sex in general. John knew what he liked; now he had to find out if Sherlock liked it too.

After a moment of gently running his thumb over Sherlock, through fabric, the other man seemed to get fed up. Trousers, pants, shoes were yanked off, and then he grabbed John's waistband and look him straight in the eyes.

"Off, John. We're going to do this properly." John smiled and obeyed, enjoying the sight of Sherlock's alabaster pale legs, and aroused state. It was quite the sight to take in. Smooth skin, gorgeous body, lust-filled eyes... John was so turned on it ached. Sherlock was also watching him, carefully, memorizing details and notes and waiting for them to become relevant. John hoped that he was as exciting as Sherlock was.

But he didn't let himself think for too long. As soon as his clothes were off, he headed straight back into Sherlock's arms, relishing every inch of skin on skin, every little molecule of friction. The way they moved, the feeling of each other scrambling for purchase, everything made them more desperate for each other. The touches went straight to John's groin. Their tongues intertwined, their limbs tangling together as they both scrambled to feel everything. Sherlock's breathing was getting heavier as he choked back beautiful noises that were the most welcome sounds in the universe to the doctor right now. John had to stop and pull away or they were both going to come before they had a chance to actually _do_ anything.

So he slowly, teasingly trailed kisses down Sherlock's chest. Pausing, every now and then, just to build tension. Sherlock gasped as he got lower, closer to his target. And then breathed in sharply when John wrapped his hand around the base of his cock.

John didn't really know what he was doing. But he had enough research to back him up, and enough experience on the receiving end that he was pretty sure he knew a good sound when he heard it. And the hiss of pleasure Sherlock made when he started to work his tongue along the tip of him was definitely a good sound. He dragged his tongue down Sherlock's shaft. Placed sucking kisses everywhere. Swallowed him as far as he could, then ever so slowly sucked and dragged his mouth off. Everything he had heard people liked, everything he could think of having liked. And every time he was rewarded with an uncontrollable buck of Sherlock's hips or a loud moan, he did it again. And again.

"Oh god, John," Sherlock groaned, writhing uncontrollably now. "John, John, _JOHN_..."

Sheets twisted in Sherlock's fists and John concentrated on sucking even harder. Slowly. Quickly. Alternating, until Sherlock was thrusting into his mouth and screaming with pleasure and John tasted the salt of semen.

He swallowed, sharply, and kept his tongue moving until Sherlock started to go flaccid and limp. Then he sidled his way back up beside the other man. Sherlock nuzzled his shoulder.

"That was amazing." Sherlock's whisper sounded more like a loud gasp. "Incredible, John."

John smirked. "I'm glad you think so. I wasn't sure you'd like it."

"You're obviously a moron, then." Sherlock's insult didn't have any weight behind it as the detective tried to regain his breath "Just give me a moment and I'll try to do the same for you."

"You don't have to, you know." But John was suppressing an embarrassing sound that might have been a whimper. The image of Sherlock sucking him off was more powerful than he had expected. As much as he'd like it, though, blowjobs weren't everyone's cup of tea. He wasn't going to ask Sherlock to do that.

"I want to. But I apologize if I'm not very good at it."

Wrapping Sherlock in his arms, John responded. "Anything you do will be great. Sex doesn't have to be amazing to be good."

"I just hope I'm not _bad_." It was odd to see Sherlock nervous. He didn't come off as a nervous man in any other respect. But this one, this one area, he seemed completely unsure. John didn't get much of a chance to think about it, though, as Sherlock's hand slipped down to John's cock, and stroked it firmly.

"Oh, Christ, _Sherlock_," John gasped.

The friction almost blanked out his mind. Enough of a distraction for Sherlock to slip through his arms and down to mouth the tip of him. And from there, it was a downhill slope. John found himself lost in the sensation, the image of Sherlock's wicked looking face administering him with the best sensations he could find. It was all he could focus on. Everything had being replaced with Sherlock's seductive glances and steady touches.

Sherlock found nerve groupings and attacked them, overloading him with sensation, letting him feel the ache in his cock build and burn, and then backed away, and found something else to do. Taking him close to climax and then not giving it to him. Repeatedly.

"Oh, Sherlock, fuck, _please_." John felt himself begging, and twitching and calling Sherlock's name.

He barely had the sense to babble. He couldn't think of anything but that warm mouth, the beautiful man it was attached to and the sensations on his cock. Pleasure was _far_ too weak of a word. Everything was concentrated on what Sherlock was doing and how close he was coming to the edge.

"Oh god, _SHERLOCK_!"

He climaxed with a scream. He couldn't think, or hear, or control himself. It was so intense. All of his senses were gone, eyes closed, without a thought for what was going on outside of _them_ and _sex_. As he finished, he noticed that Sherlock looked relieved for a moment. Then he rolled over to the side of the bed and spat on the floor before squirming back into John's arms. John noticed with more than a hint of delight that the detective was already hard again.

"I thought you said you didn't have any experience," John joked. "You're sure you weren't lying?"

"Positive." Sherlock smiled. "I'm surprised I could make you come."

John rolled his eyes. "Don't be ridiculous. You did fantastic."

"Good." The relief in his voice was palpable. "I'm glad."

They lay for a moment, Sherlock hard and John getting there again before John said anything.

"Um, there are... other things we could try, if you want?" He was sure he looked sheepish. He wasn't sure how open Sherlock was to these ideas. But obviously they were both still ready to go. "I mean, if you're interested."

"John," Sherlock said calmly, "at this point, I will try _anything_ you want. Did you bring lube?"

John rolled over and opened the table drawer beside the bed. There was lube. And condoms. Thankfully. "Yes, it looks like they brought us some."

Sherlock blushed, but he didn't seem deterred. "Well, I suppose that's a good thing. But I warn you, this is all up to you. I have only the vaguest idea of how this works."

John nodded. He had figured that. And it would be easier for him to lead, anyways. Easier for him "to top", as they said. He was a doctor. At the very least, he knew he wouldn't hurt Sherlock.

"That's fine. As long as you're sure."

"Yes, John, I am _sure_." Sherlock's exasperated tone came with a small smile. "Nervous, but sure."

"Alright." John squeezed some lube on to his fingers and rubbed his hands together, warming it, and making sure all his fingers were coated. Then he wrapped one hand around Sherlock's cock, and stroked. He had a feeling that this would be all about distraction. They were face to face, John kneeling between Sherlock's legs, for the best angle.

Sherlock moaned immediately when John started his handjob. But that rapidly stiffened as he traced the edges of his ass, gently adjusting him to the sensation.

"Are you alright?" John asked. He didn't want to do anything uncomfortable. At all. This was going to be good, damn it.

"Yes," Sherlock rasped, his muscles slowly relaxing. "Just let me adjust. Go slowly and I'll be fine."

"Alright. I'll be gentle." John worked his fingers at the base of Sherlock's cock and the other man groaned. He felt the muscles relax. Excellent. Distractions were helping. That was a good sign.

He stroked particularly quickly, up and down, when he slipped his first finger in. Sherlock's muscles tried to clench but immediately relaxed with the feeling on John's other hand. Good. Careful. John let himself slowly thrust his finger in and out, stretching gently as he went, and keeping up his distraction. Slowly, surely, he slipped in a second finger.

When Sherlock didn't protest, John pushed them in a little further, and crooked them - at just the right angle to hit Sherlock's prostate. Being a doctor had its benefits.

"Oh, _fuck_," Sherlock said breathlessly, writhing involuntarily.. John smiled and did it again. "Ah!"

"Feels good?" He was feeling just a little wicked.

"_Yes_." Sherlock didn't even have the composure to argue. John kept stroking him slowly, inside and out, and slid in a third finger. Slowly stretching, and working, and pressing against Sherlock's prostate. The consulting detective hips jerked suddenly; he shut his eyes. John took a moment to enjoy how flushed Sherlock was, again marveling at how fucking perfect he was, this was, _everything_ was right now..

"John, if you don't hurry up, I'm going to come before you get a chance to do anything to me." Every word was breathy, as Sherlock twisted and John felt him shudder.

"I though we were going slowly?" John smiled a bit, but stopped stroking. He pulled his fingers out, and positioned himself at a better angle. "Are you sure this is alright?"

Sherlock glared at him. "If you ask me that one more time, John, I swear..."

He didn't finish, though. John had very carefully begun to push forwards and in. Sherlock bit his lip, but said nothing. John's actions were slower than a crawl, letting the detective adjust every step of the way. Letting him breath. Listening for any hiss of pain. He was _not_ going to hurt Sherlock with this.

Once he was fully sheathed he paused. Sherlock leaned up and kissed him, and John felt the other man relax. Fuck, it felt _incredible_.

"Alright. I think it's okay if you move now." Sherlock's eyes fluttered closed, as John's hand came back to his cock. John began thrusting. Slowly at first, searching for he right angle. It was a lot easier to find the prostate with fingers than a penis. John wasn't sure if that was a life lesson, but he was certainly glad he tried. When he hit the right spot, Sherlock let out a wanton moan, and John abandoned any worries he might have had.

The two of them thrust together furiously, John's hand working on Sherlock's cock, and his brain doing its best to keep control. The sensation of Sherlock's muscles working around him, as he tried to hit the right angle with every thrust, overwhelmed him. It was intense, wonderful, and heady. And every squirm and involuntary spasm made it better. Sherlock was whimpering - in a good way - and rocking back to meet John's thrusts. They moved together amazingly well for two people who hadn't done this before. Instinct and compatibility, John supposed. But he didn't have the brain power to think more than that. Thinking was really hard when having extremely gratifying sex with a man you've lusted over for a while.

John could feel himself getting close. And the increase in desperation from Sherlock meant that he was almost there as well. When Sherlock came, he felt everything tighten around him. It was all he could do to keep thrusting for the moments before his own orgasm.

He was sure the both of them had seen stars. And when they collapsed together, it was definitely with mutual satisfaction. Disheveled hair, limbs loose and sprawled, Sherlock looked like a freshly debauched Adonis. And it was hot, and satisfying, and incredibly gorgeous. The other man was flush, and sweaty, and it was still amazing. Sex only made Sherlock more beautiful. John slid out, and wrapped Sherlock in his arms, laying a kiss on the other man's lips.

It was right then that John looked at his feet.

"I left my socks on," he murmured, half-laughing. Sherlock broke into a guffaw.

"_That's_ what's on your mind? Not, 'I'm thoroughly debauched' or 'I haven't just taken your rose, Sherlock, I've annihilated it.'" Sherlock's sarcastic statements made his smile even wider. "Just 'I left my socks on.' John Watson, you are _priceless_."

"I just noticed now, is all," John replied. "I assume the fact that I'm thoroughly debauched is a given."

"Well, I would hope so," Sherlock said in a miffed tone. He was smiling, though. "That was the point."

"Well, it certainly was a successful point." John shivered a bit, feeling the evening breeze for the first time. "And I don't now about you, but I think I'm ready to crawl into bed."

"Agreed," Sherlock murmured.

John had to wrestle with the covers to get them both under them. They tangled themselves together, Sherlock's head resting gently on John's chest. The taller man had curled himself around John, and hooked their legs together. It felt warm. Comfortable. And natural. John hadn't expected it to be as easy and natural as it was. The two of them fit in each other's arms, and it felt right. Fuck gender, fuck social expectations, fuck the fact that this whole thing should have been more awkward and less amazing. This was perfect.

That was his last thought as John drifted off to sleep.

X

Waking up beside Sherlock felt wonderful. Having him be there, warm, and barely touching John, stirred something warm inside him. Affection. John watched the rise and fall of the other man's chest as he breathed, how his dark curls rested across his forehead, how his face looked so beautiful in its stillness just as much as it did when Sherlock smiled. He wanted to lay there forever and not go out into the world. But he couldn't.

Sherlock was sleeping heavily still. Probably exhausted from whatever emotional gambit he had to deal with in the last week. But John only had an hour or so, and he wanted to spend a little more time together. So he decided to wake him up in the gentlest way possible.

He wrapped his arms around the other man and stroked his hands down his torso, while breathlessly kissing him. Softly, though. Soft and slow, and careful, watching as Sherlock stirred beneath his caresses. Striking eyes fluttering open, the detective immediately squinted and yawned. Then leaned in to return John's kisses. And his caresses.

The only noise was their gasps and whimpers, and the wet sounds of kisses. It was softer than last night, more emotional, but John was still aroused by Sherlock's touches. And Sherlock was clearly aroused by his.

After a moment of writhing, John broke away long enough to grab the lube. He slicked them both up and pressed himself against Sherlock. They didn't need much. Just John's hand wrapping around both their cocks at once, and a rhythm. They had that.

Thrusting slickly against each other, gasping between kisses, the friction was just enough to make John want more. Just enough to make Sherlock thrust a bit harder. Just enough for the two of them to need air and movement. Sherlock broke away and rested his head on John's shoulder, his fingers biting into John's back, panting heavily as the two of them rocked furiously. John felt his head go back as the pressure built.

It felt like an explosion when he came. And Sherlock wasn't far after. The two of them lay sweaty and sticky, still clinging to each other.

"Good morning to you, too," Sherlock murmured, still panting. "I think I'm awake now."

"Good," John breathed. "I've got to go in... another forty minutes. And I didn't want to leave without saying goodbye."

Sherlock laughed, hoarsely. "Well, good. I'm glad I'm not a fuck and run."

John smiled and leaned in for a kiss. Sherlock kissed back. Then pulled away to stretch.

"We'd better get up, then." He rolled out of the bed quickly, the sheet dragging after him. John took in a long look at Sherlock's naked body before climbing out of bed himself. Sherlock walked into the bathroom.

"JOHN," came the very loud exclamation. "Were you going to mention the gigantic bruise on my neck or just hope I didn't notice?"

John burst into laughter. He was sure Sherlock would live.

X

John freshened up, stopped back at his normal hotel room for a change of clothes, and immediately went back out. He felt kind of guilty, on his way to see Sarah. He was supposed to do that again with her. And he felt nauseous. Not because he regretted having sex with Sherlock. That was not it at all. In the slightest. He just couldn't feel good about doing that and then immediately going out to do something similar with Sarah.

He wasn't quite sure where he stood, emotionally or ethically. He hadn't thought he would have done it the first time with Laura, but with Sherlock he hadn't thought of anything else. Not after a while.

He wondered if it would be the same with Sarah.

She met him at a corner, just an ordinary street corner. She looked beautiful - soft brown hair, a glowing smile, and a pretty blue dress on. John smiled back instantly. It was really hard to help it.

"Good morning, John," she murmured, giving him a kiss.

"Morning," he returned. He took her hand. "Are you ready to see where we're going?"

"Lead away. I'd love to see."

John led her around the corner and down the street. Waiting for them at the end of the avenue was a short dock, and a gondola.

"Oh my gosh," Sarah whispered softly, clearly delighted. John was glad. He wanted her to smile.

"Would you like to take a ride, madame?" He offered her a hand and helped her step on to the boat.

X

The gondolier was singing "Santa Lucia" in an echoing voice; not so loud that they couldn't talk, but loud enough that is made a perfect backdrop. Sweet. Like Sarah.

Sarah and him were cuddled together on their end of the boat. John felt a little more relaxed and a little guiltier from his night with Sherlock. But Sarah was as perfect as always. She didn't ask him about the night before or talk about the possibilities. She just wanted to talk about him. So he let her lead the conversation and tried to forget exactly what he was doing.

"You've just been so wonderful, John," she was saying. "Every minute has been perfect. And when you're not here, I think about you constantly. I want you to be happy with me."

"I am. You do make me happy, Sarah." She did. He loved spending time with her. It was easy and comfortable and just what he had always figured a couple should be. Every moment. But he wasn't sure how to express that to her. Or to reconcile it with Sherlock - who he couldn't seem to get out of his head. He would turn to look at Sarah, and almost see him sitting there in her place, Chesire cat grin and all. Then just as suddenly he was gone and Sarah was there along with a brand new knot in his stomach.

"I'm glad," she sighed. "I can see us in a future together. A nice flat, or a house, and a steady life. Maybe a few kids later on. Just... a good life. I think a life with you would be a good life."

He could see the tears in her eyes, and he felt his heartstrings pulling a little. She described something he had always sort of pictured himself in. He pulled her closer.

"That sounds great. I think that's definitely what it would be. A good life." He felt her lay against him. "I can see that. I think a relationship between us would work fantastically."

"Of course it would work," she laughed. "I don't think that's even a question, John."

Her assurance was stronger than John had expected. She was right, though. It wasn't a question. Sarah was perfect. Life with her would be amazing and everything your typical heterosexual married relationship was supposed to be. She was everything he was expecting out of his future.

"You're right," he replied, reassured. "I don't think it's a question. I just want to make sure it's what you want."

"John." He hadn't heard Sarah's serious voice before. She looked him in the eye. "There is nothing that I could want more."

John smiled. Sincerity was more than he could ask for. To get so much honesty and certainty in a situation where emotions were everywhere was amazing. He wasn't sure where Sarah got that kind of authority but he appreciated it. She wanted this. And only this.

"I'm glad, Sarah," he whispered, kissing her gently. "I love that you can say that with such conviction."

"I hope in another few days, you can say it too," she murmured, leaning against him. Her eyes fluttered closed. "That would be my fairy tale ending."

"I hope so too," John whispered. But he wasn't sure. Suddenly the detective's presence was palpable even though he wasn't there, like a touch that lingers on the skin. He really didn't know and his stomach was in a knot. "I don't want to disappoint you."

"Nothing you do would disappoint me, John. I love you. Whatever makes you happy, makes me happy too."

As much as John wanted to believe that, he couldn't. Unrequited love hurt. No matter how much you wanted the other person to be happy.

"...Su passegieri, venite via!" sang the gondolier. "Sa-anta Luci-ia! Saaantaaaaaaa Lucii-i-ia!"

Sarah sighed contentedly and smiled into his shoulder as they passed under _Ponte dei Sospir_i.

X

They spent most of the day on the boat, idly chatting, and taking in the sunshine. John lapped it up, and Sarah seemed to bask in his attentions. He was really enjoying his time with her. It was soothing. She didn't care if she was only one of two people he was dating. She didn't care what he was feeling guilty over. And she didn't care if he had slept with Sherlock. She would accept whatever he did. And that was exactly what John needed to get through this date.

It was exactly what he needed to keep going.

They disembarked late in the afternoon, Sarah clinging to his hand as he helped her out.

"That was such a beautiful ride," she purred, softly. John could see the happiness on her face, just shining out. She was perfectly content with him, and he couldn't help but love it.

"It really was. I'm glad we went." They started the walk down the picturesque streets. John was searching for gelato. A nice way to round out the afternoon. Gelato and a walk.

"So am I. Venice is such a beautiful place to explore. It's so great to actually be here."

"Yeah." John sighed. It was gorgeous, but he couldn't help but think about Sherlock's brief lecture on its lack of culture. He shook the memory away. "Why don't we walk around for a bit before supper?"

Sarah wrapped herself on his arm and giggled. "I'd love that."

X

"It's funny how I always seem to have gotten the stereotypical 'Italy' dates," Sarah commented over her green tea gelato. "It's singing and pasta and gondolas. Not that I'm complaining."

"Well, you did seem to have all the luck that way," John laughed. He remembered Pagliacci still, and Sarah dancing in the kitchen. The memory made him smile. "It was fun, though. I'm glad I brought you."

"So am I." Sarah seemed so peaceful, eating gelato and sitting on the bench. The picture of bliss. John was glad to be part of it. "If we ever come back, though, I'm requesting dates that don't come with singing Italian men."

X

Sarah had insisted on wandering through a few alleys and shops. She bought a hat that matched her dress, and was trying to convince John to buy a vase made of Milano glass.

"John, it's gorgeous. And it's a statement piece. It doesn't matter where you put it, it will look good." Sarah was right. It was a gorgeous blue vase, swirling with greens and yellows. A lovely centerpiece. But that voice in the back of his head was asking him if he was actually going to pay money for that thing. In Sherlock's voice. He ignored it.

"I think you're right. It's just hard to picture it on my table."

Sarah smiled. "That's why you bring it home."

John smiled back and bought the vase.

X

Dinner was in the same garden again. Not that John minded. The candlelight and familiar atmosphere was calming. He knew where he was and what to do here. Sarah was joyous, and she looked heavenly in the flickering light. A perfect beauty, just like she was supposed to be.

"Perfect end to a perfect day," Sarah said, happily. "They couldn't pick a prettier place."

"No, they really couldn't. It's a lovely garden." John smiled. Conversation with Sarah didn't have to mean anything. It didn't even have to be there. Everything was comfortable. Whether they were talking about romance or the weather.

"I'm just glad I can spend today with you, John," Sarah said. She paused for a moment then continued. "And I know I've said it, and I think I've made my feelings clear, but I want to say it again. I love you. And every moment I spend with you."

She shushed him when he tried to speak. "Don't bother, John. You can't say anything back, and I think I know you're still confused. It's alright. You don't have to know and you don't have to try to be something for me. I'm happy with you just the way you are right now."

A moment silence passed before John kissed her. He didn't have a better way to express how he felt. Gratitude, relief, calm. Everything he wanted to say but couldn't. He wanted to wrap her up in his arms and let that say everything he wasn't able to.

After they broke away, they both sat an enjoyed the peace. Sarah smiled as they finished off their meal.

The invitation came out, then. John fished it out of his jacket. And passed it to her, quietly.

"I want you to have this, Sarah," he said quietly. "If you want it."

She opened it and read the note in silence. Then she picked up the key with a grin.

"Of course I want it. Let's get out of here."

X

The suite they walked into was all whites and blacks and smooth lines and curves. Ultramodern. Exactly the opposite of the suite he brought Sherlock to. But just as high-end. Sarah dragged him through each room, peering in to the bathroom, and the bedroom, and then pulling him out the glass doors to the balcony. Their view was overlooking the city and its canals.

It couldn't have been more exciting. Sarah was delighted. She didn't wait for the cameras to leave before pulling him in for a kiss and running her hands down his sides. It was passionate, her tongue in his mouth, his sense flooded with the scent of her and the feeling of being touched. Her excitement was catching.

But he broke away before they made it to the bed, straightened his shirt, and walked the cameraman outside. They went without a word this time, and he closed the door sharply in their face.

Sarah had followed him.

"No need to be so shy," she laughed. "They would cut anything incriminating anyway."

"That doesn't mean I want them to even catch it on film," John returned, sauntering closer. He settled his hands on her waist with a grin.

She arched up in to his kiss, arms around his neck, her body pressed completely against his, all her motions deliberate. She knew what she was doing.

Unlike Sherlock. The comparison came up unbidden. John pushed it away. This was about Sarah. He was supposed to do this for her.

She pulled away and nipped quickly at his neckline before pulling away, letting her hair down as she walked. John followed as she beckoned, trailing her into the bedroom.

She latched on to him again when they got to the bed, and let him lower her down softly. No awkward 'are you sure.' Not a single question as to whether either of them wanted it. John was sure she did. And he thought he did too.

But he wasn't sure. Her tongue in his mouth, the feel of her shoulders as her dressed slipped down a bit, the touch of her hands on his waist, under his shirt. It all felt so wonderful. Incredible. Like everything he wanted. But every time he felt the twitch of arousal, he flashed back to the night before. Sherlock's hands in his hair and Sherlock's body underneath his own.

They rolled over in bed, and John pulled back and breathed deeply. Sarah looked at him with slightly glazed eyes, but gave him his space. He couldn't appreciate it more.

"I'm so sorry," he said after a long moment. His hands came up to scrub at his face. "So sorry. I don't think I can do this."

Sarah's hand settled on his stomach, and she relaxed to lie beside him. "It's alright, John. It's okay. Don't apologize."

"I should. I've brought you this far, I should be able to do this for you." He felt awful. Like he had led her on. But he couldn't fucking do this. He felt like he was cheating on both of them. And having to see Sherlock's face and Sarah's face when he was in bed with either of them was going to stop him cold.

"No, you shouldn't," she said firmly. She didn't seem upset. "I think it's sweet of you. You're considering our feelings, and the fact that that's more important to you is touching. Nothing to apologize for."

John sighed. His knot of guilt had just gotten _much_ bigger. He couldn't talk to her about the night before. He didn't want to.

"Thank you for understanding," he said at last. "Do you still want to stay? I would understand if you don't."

"No, I'm quite content with cuddling in a king sized bed." She smiled. "I'm just going to get changed, and I'll be right back."

It was awful. He felt sick. Sarah talked about cuddling but he knew already that she would lie in his arms and he would spend the entire evening feeling guilty and not getting much sleep. He didn't know what this meant, or what he thought of it yet. He just knew he couldn't go through with it. He couldn't sleep with her knowing he had been with Sherlock just that morning.

She came back, and urged him into bed.

John resigned himself to staring at the ceiling.

X

Waking up next to Sarah felt like a perfect marriage. She got up just before him, gave him a kiss on the brow, and wandered over to the phone in the living area to order breakfast. John listened to her request for room service as he sat with the heavy feeling in his stomach.

The only reassuring fact was that he didn't have to interpret anything so soon. He had some time to think about things. And regret things. Or not regret them. Or whatever. He didn't even know.

He needed sleep.

"You like eggs, right John?" Sarah called.

"Of course," he replied, automatically. "Eggs are great."

"Good. They'll be here in a minute. And then we've got to get dressed and check out."

She wandered back in to the room and smiled at him. "Thank you, for last night."

John didn't know what she was thanking him for.

X

Later that evening, Dave wanted him to talk about Laura. John really wasn't doing a good job of it, but he was trying.

"I'm glad she knew what she wanted. That was better for her than staying and trying to pretend that I was the right person." John genuinely was happy that she had decided to move on. He didn't want to force anything on anyone, and it was one less person for him to hurt. "It was a good decision on her part."

"But you must be worried," Dave urged. "Having a relationship just end like that, so close to the last days? Does it make you question the relationships you have now?"

"No," John answered, exhausted. "I'm very sure of Sarah and Sherlock. I trust them both. If anything, I feel more secure in my choices now."

Dave smiled. "Do you want to bring anyone back, in place of Laura?"

John sighed heavily. Because he needed to make this more complicated? No, he thought not. Sherlock and Sarah were exactly who he wanted here, anyway.

"No. I think I'm happy with my choices."

X

He looked at pictures for a while. Tired, and uninterested, but doing what he was told. Then, he walked out to give Sarah and Sherlock their roses.

He noted Sherlock was wearing a coat and a very carefully placed scarf, even though it wasn't cold. He tried to repress a snicker. And then let the sick twist of guilt settle again.

"Sarah. Sherlock." Dave was all about the smarm tonight. "Just so you are both aware, Laura has already left due to her conflicting emotions. For tonight, it's just the two of you. John."

John walked over to the plate of roses. Two. One for Sherlock one for Sarah.

"Sherlock," he murmured. "Will you accept this rose?"

"Yes." The consulting detective came up and took his rose, leaving John with the ghost of a kiss.

"Sarah," he murmured next. "Will you accept this rose?"

"Of course," she answered, coming to give him a light hug, and a quick kiss.

And it was over in less than three minutes, but somehow this was more emotional than all of the other rose ceremonies combined. All the guilt he was feeling, the amount of love he felt for Sherlock _and_ Sarah were overwhelming. Before it had been relatively simple to eliminate one or two girls from his pool of twenty or twelve or eight. But he was going to have to pick one of two soon. And he wasn't feeling very sure of anything right now.

These flowers had ripped the ground from under him. And now he got to deal with the aftermath.

X

John slumped down in to his bed, afterwards, feeling drained. He wasn't sure where he stood now. That night with Sherlock had been amazing. But now he couldn't feel alright about it. He hadn't been able to sleep with Sarah. There's no reason for it to have been so easy with Sherlock.

He really hoped it wasn't because he found Sarah's relationship to be more real. That wasn't right. Sherlock had just as much of a heart to break, and he was just as invested emotionally. They were just very different relationships. And he really wasn't sure which one he wanted more.

It was torturous to have to peel apart every layer of every action. Why _did_ he sleep with Sherlock? Was it just the fears left over from Laura? Could that have been what pushed him forward? It was something he obviously wanted. After all they'd almost gotten there twice over the last two weeks. But he shouldn't have been thinking with his dick. He was a muddled emotional mess. It wasn't fair to make decisions like that. Wasn't fair to Sherlock. He should have waited. Held off. Thought more logically about what he was doing instead of trying to make everything emotional.

_It's not stupid to _have_ emotions. It's stupid to let them rule your every action_, Sherlock had said, himself. And that's exactly what John should have listened to. Why couldn't he have brought Sherlock back and just shared the room platonically? It didn't have to lead to sex. He had been adamant about that fact. Obviously he needed to listen to his own advice.

He couldn't take it back now, though. It was done. Over. Completed. And it's not like he regretted _sharing_ that with Sherlock. He just regretted sharing it _now_.

What did that mean?

He wasn't going to figure it out this way. All he could really do right now was make sure this didn't affect his decision. Sherlock was _not_ going to win or lose because of what he did or did not do with John in bed. Neither was Sarah. That wasn't fair to either of them. John's poor decisions were his own, and he was going to make sure neither of them suffered because of it. It was all he could do.


	10. Episode 10

Episode Ten

The production crew had moved all of them to Padua, Spain for the last five days of shooting. And so, he found himself, once again, sitting in a hotel lobby with Sarah. Who was quickly getting on his nerves.

"So, what exactly happened with Laura?" she was asking. Sherlock sighed heavily. Not the conversation he wanted to have. "Did you know anything about it?"

"No," he bluntly lied. Why should he indulge her gossip? She could find out later when she watched the tapes. He wasn't feeling very generous.

Actually, he was feeling some mix of furious, contrary, and depressed. Topped with a dash of confusion. Being in love fucking sucked as did sitting down with the woman that was about to take it all away from you. And she wanted to chat? Would wonders never cease?

"Well, that's too bad," Sarah said, her smile growing faker. "I would have loved to say goodbye to her."

"Mm." Noncommittal grunt. Maybe she'd stop trying?

Nope. "How was your date with John?"

"Fine."

"Just fine?" She giggled, looking superior. Ugh.

"Magical, wonderful, perfect. Whichever adjective you wish to choose. It was good."

Sarah rolled her eyes, but he could tell he was starting to get on her nerves. And it felt damn good. Maybe she could grow a spine and start to hate him some fraction of the amount that he hated her.

"Mine was too. It was so sweet that he couldn't sleep with any of us." She was smiling again, but gently. Sherlock had instantly felt his heart start to hammer in his chest, but he very forcefully kept himself in the same position. No, emotion on his face. No panic on the exterior.

"Yeah, it was," he said, a bit more wistfully than intended. Sarah seemed satisfied with that and he made sure to profusely thank the god he didn't believe in.

"I'm going to get a coffee. Call me if they assign our rooms?" She stood up and stretched. Sherlock didn't answer. "Alright, I'll be back in a moment."

He watched her leave, and let the internal wave of anxiety take over his thought processes. John obviously hadn't slept with Sarah. Sherlock highly doubted that he had told Sarah either way about their night together, thus Sarah was making the assumption based on John's actions. All that was obvious and factual based on both their characters. The real question: what the hell did that _mean_?

Was he winning? John liked him more, and couldn't "cheat" on him with Sarah? Was he just a cheap fuck? A less important relationship, or a fling that would soon be over, thus not necessitating John to follow the same ethics as he would with his "normal" relationships? That didn't really sound like John either, none of it did and no matter which angle he examined it from, he was still confused. Was he _winning_ or _losing_?

He couldn't process this. He didn't know what to think, what to do, whether or not he should be scared. But John would be a complete _fool_ to pass up a relationship with Sarah. She was perfect. Every part of her was perfect and she clearly represented the relationship that he was sure people expected John to have. John could have kids and a normal life and a stable home and the perfect middle class blissful dream. There was no reason for John to pick anything else.

But a small part of Sherlock had latched onto the slim possibility that this might mean hope. He loved John. Fucking loved him. And he was feeling extremely emotional and extremely messed up. He'd never felt anything like this. In fact, he had spent his entire life scoffing at people with these kinds of emotional problems. And now he had to deal with them. Great, irony once again comes around to bite him in the ass.

That aside, he really did want to spend his life with John. He wasn't even sure how that would work at this point, but he wanted it. Stupid. Stupid wishful thinking. Stupid emotional attachment. He was setting himself up for disappointment. And he couldn't stand the fact that he couldn't accept it.

He couldn't _accept_ it.

He couldn't let John walk away and never touch him again and never see him again. But he would. Because John deserved better than psychopathic, social rejected, emotionally compromised _anyone_. John deserved better than him.

X

They had put John in a little three bedroom bungalow, because Harry and his mother were staying there for two of the next five days. He wasn't looking forward to that. He wasn't sure what he was doing; he wasn't sleeping; he was doing his best to be happy with both Sarah and Sherlock. To say it bluntly, his life was a disaster. And he was desperately in love, but he needed some time that wasn't traveling or planning dates or entertaining his damn sister, or staring at the ceiling when he should be sleeping. He wasn't sure how he was going to make a decision at this rate. How he was ever going to reconcile his actions with how he felt.

He wasn't even sure he _knew_ how he felt at this point.

But the production insisted. It was time for his family to meet the two most important people to him. Because they would give him an opinion and help him decide, and figure out how to choose someone who would work as part of his family.

Reality? He didn't trust Harry's opinion on anything, and hadn't since they were just out of high school. Since she started drinking. His mother was a different story, but not entirely so. She, at least, was sober. He didn't always disagree with her opinion. She might even have a bit of advice. But it was all kind of tainted by the fact that she didn't defend Harry much against their father when she came out. He hadn't talked to his father for years because of that reaction. And his mother hadn't really helped the situation.

He didn't feel comfortable with his family anymore. It kind of overshadowed the "importance" of introducing them to Sherlock and Sarah.

Then again, he wouldn't really mind an objective opinion. It might give some sort of insight, even if it was just into himself.

Harry's opinion wasn't objective, though. He already knew that.

"Huuuullooooooo," he heard from the door. Harry. "You here already, John?"

John turned from the kitchenette and waved politely. "Hello, Harry. Hello, Mum. How was the trip?"

Harry walked in, short blonde hair styled carefully to look messier than it actually was. She was tall and sickly looking. Thinner than when John had last seen her, but still with just a bit of distended stomach. Drinking. She probably looked so much like shit because of the horrible break up with Clara. He'd heard about it while he was in hospital. But he wasn't surprised. They couldn't stop fighting, the two of them. Clara wanted a career and a family and a steady income. Harry wanted to party. It wasn't going to work.

John's mother looked like she always did. Slightly overweight, hair dyed light brown to hide the grey, dressed in a sweater and slacks, neat but casual. The soft crow's feet at the corner of her eyes had deepened, but she looked younger than she was. Motherly. John wasn't sure why he could never fully hate her, but he had a feeling that motherliness was it.

"The trip was great," his mother replied cheerily. "Spain is beautiful in the summer."

"Good, I'm glad," John said quietly. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to say to them. "Sarah will be here later this afternoon, if you want to take the morning to settle in."

Harry kicked off her shoes and flopped down on the couch. His mother more politely walked over to give him a kiss on the cheek before sitting down.

"I think it will just be wonderful to talk to you for a while, love," she said. "I'd like to know what you've been up to."

"And she wants the dish on your romances. You're going to have to tell us all about them." Harry winked from her seat on the couch. John resigned himself to taking his tea over to the couch and talking to his family about his love life.

"So... there's two left," John started, not entirely sure how to broach the subject. "I guess you're meeting them both in the next couple days."

"Who's visiting today?" His mother asked, voice dripping with curiousity. John had known she'd be excited. It was her nature to be nosy.

"Sarah. She's really sweet, and great to talk to and be around. She's a nurse practitioner, lives in London, uh, small and close knit family." John was listing things off like he was reading a grocery list.. But he really wasn't sure how he was supposed to talk about stuff like this. "I can definitely see a white picket fence and children with her."

"John, stop talking about these girls like they're cattle," Harry called out. John grimaced. He knew he was doing it. But he really didn't know what else to say. He mostly felt like this was no one's business but his own. "You get along?" Harry asked, urging him on.

"Perfectly," John said with a smile. Walking with Sarah in Venice, talking to her in the catacombs, traipsing across Ireland - every date had been amazing. Exactly what he would want a date to be. "Everything we've done together has been perfect."

"She sounds lovely," John's mum cooed. "And like she's just right for you. It would be really nice for you date a nurse. She could find you a job, maybe."

"Mum, I think I can find a job on my own." John sighed. His mother was always looking for the best superficial match for him. That's why he never let her weigh in on his dates. "Regardless, yes, she's really nice."

"Who's the other girl?" Harry burst in. Impatient, as always.

"Ah, Sherlock," John said. Bracing himself.

"Funny name for a girl," his mother commented.

"Ah. He's not a girl." And there it was. His mother's eyebrows almost jumped off her face, but scarier than that? Harry's wicked smile. "He's a consulting detective in London. World's only."

Harry cackled. "Oh _god_, that's rich."

"Well, I'm glad your father didn't come along, then." His mother seemed mostly calm, but a little shock was seeping through. She'd already had to do this once, he supposed. Twice wasn't pleasant, but was still old news. "I didn't think you had those...inclinations."

"I didn't think so either, mum," John said quickly. He should probably attempt to explain this, though he doubted they'd ever really understand. "I don't think it's guys; I think it's Sherlock."

"Ooooooo," Harry squealed. "Tall dark handsome stranger woos you with his unique personality?"

John put his head in his hands, trying to rub his headache away. "You don't know the half of it."

"Oh, that good, eh?" Harry teased. John figured he might as well be honest.

"Yes. He's pretty much amazing."

Harry's grin spread even further and his mother looked temporarily like she was going to faint. She stood up and bustled over to the kitchenette, obviously making some tea. John settled into the couch and waited for the barrage.

"I am so drilling you for details." Harry sounded ominous. "This is going to be so much fun."

X

"I cannot _believe_ John's dating a man," Harry was still squealing with absolute, unadulterated delight. The camera caught her wild arm movements, and the dark circles under her eyes. "I thought I was going to have to deal with John and his perfect women. He's always the favourite. This is so, _so_ much better."

X

"So," Harry started after he had calmed them down and finished summarizing Sherlock. "Which of them do you see yourself with?"

John sighed. "Harry, that's not the problem. I can see myself with both of them. But it's a wildly different choice. Sherlock's exciting and adventurous and amazing, whereas Sarah's everything I thought I would have. It's a very strong dichotomy."

"And that's where we come in, yeah?" Harry was holding the whole conversation. Not that John was surprised by that. Harry always dominated the small talk. "We give you an opinion; it helps you pick your true love."

"Yeah, supposedly," John agreed. "I'm hoping it will help."

He didn't hold out much hope, though. His mother reached over and patted him on the knee.

"Don't worry so much, John. It's your choice in the end, and you'll know who you prefer. All we can do is tell you who _we_ like." She smiled softly. "Either way, we'll be happy for you."

Harry rolled her eyes, and John knew that his mother's platitudes were not entirely true.

X

"I know Mum doesn't care, but if John picks some bitch that we all hate, I'm so not going to be happy for him," Harry drawled at the camera. She was really enjoying these confessionals. "If he wants to be a dick, I'm going to call him out on it."

X

"This matters so much to me," Sarah said solemnly. "It's a big step in our relationship. I want his family to like me, and I really hope I like them, because I might have to be part of their lives soon. It's so important."

X

John met Sarah outside the house later that afternoon. She came in a nice patterned dress, hair tied back, and a little more makeup than usual. He was touched that she was trying to make a good impression. A couple scarves were wrapped up for Harry and his mother.

He gave her a quick kiss and led her inside. Harry waved from the couch, and his mother turned from her place in the kitchen to give Sarah a smile.

"Hello, dear," his mother called, drying her hand on a tea towel and coming over to give Sarah a hug. "I've heard so much about you."

"Sarah, this is my mother, Cathy, and my sister Harry," John said, for introductions. Harry didn't get up, but his mother did lead Sarah over to a seat.

"Hello," Sarah said, following Cathy. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"You too, dear," Cathy murmured. "I suppose we have a lot to talk about."

"About John?" Sarah asked with a laugh. "We certainly do. Your son is quite the charmer."

"He always was," Harry giggled. "John was always popular with the women."

"Only according to you," John said with a smile. This wasn't so bad. He was used to entertaining company with his family - the awkward greetings, the pleasantries, Harry's teasing. Sarah fit into this exactly how he had expected. But it really did feel a bit false. Like they were following a formula.

"I would love to hear more about him," Sarah asked. "You should tell me some stories."

"I will if John doesn't interrupt them." Harry smiled at him and John felt chills go down his spine. When did his sister get so evil? What was next? Baby pictures?

"No, you won't." John wasn't letting her tell anything that Harry remembered. Embarrassing stories were crossing the line.

"We'll see," Harry returned.

X

"I love his family," Sarah said with a laugh. "Harry is so open and fun-loving. I didn't expect to, but I get along with her perfectly. The life of the party, that one. And Cathy is sweet and lovely. Exactly what I'd want in a mother-in-law."

X

"I like her." Harry winked. "She's nice, and gorgeous, and just how John described her. A touch perfect. I like it."

X

Harry pulled Sarah out to the patio to talk. It was typical; at least one member of the family was supposed to talk to the visitor alone. John's mother wasn't about to do the "secret conversation" trope, but Harry was definitely up for it. Besides, she wanted to look out for her brother.

"So, I have to ask," Harry started, blunt as always, "how do you feel about John?"

"I love him." There was no hesitation in her voice. "I want to settle down and buy a house with him. Maybe have some children. He's my perfect husband."

"You're sure about that?" Harry was laughing. "Last I checked, he was a bit of a git. And not very good a settling down. Army and all."

Sarah smiled. "I know. But I think he's ready to settle down. He needs something more permanent, especially with a severe shoulder wound like his. I don't think he wants anything different than I do."

"Well, good. I'm glad you think so." Harry sighed. "You have any doubts about him? Do you think you're going to for sure be his fiancée?"

"I certainly hope so." Sarah shifted a bit, but she didn't seem uncomfortable. "I'd be heartbroken if he didn't choose me. But, no, I don't doubt him. He's a good man. I can trust him."

"I'm glad you feel that way. He is a good man." Harry sighed and changed the subject. "What about Sherlock? What do you think of him?"

Sarah pursed her lips for a moment. "He's... interesting. I honestly can't say that I see what John does in him, but he is a very unique man."

Her diplomatic answer wasn't really what Harry wanted. "You don't like him?"

Sarah cringed a little. "Not really, I'm afraid. I find him to be somewhat... unfriendly. Hostile, almost. But he's obviously not like that to John."

"Interesting." Harry didn't know what to make of that. "I hope John has better sense than that."

"Yes, well." Sarah examined her lap. "So do I."

X

"She's pretty confident," Harry commented, a little more sober this time. "It doesn't bother me that she is; she's right. She makes the perfect wife. And she really is very sweet. I know she'd be good for him. Come on, it's obvious."

Harry's smile was just a bit wistful this time, as if labouring under a memory of someone else.

X

Sarah said her goodbyes after an hour or so, and John was left to talk to Harry and his mother.

"So?" he started. "What do you think of her?"

"She's lovely, dear," Cathy crooned. "Absolutely lovely. I knew she would be, though. You always did have a good idea of who you wanted to date. She fits with you incredibly well."

"Yeah, she's great." Harry had relaxed again. "Confident in you, too, which is nice. And she's a wonderful woman."

"Good," John said, feeling mildly sick. He was glad they liked her. But he was once again doubting that he would get a neutral opinion. Somehow he figured Sherlock's date wouldn't go over nearly so well. And that bothered him, almost like the deck had been stacked against the detective from the beginning. It wasn't right or fair, but those were the cards he'd been dealt and John couldn't do much to change it.

X

Sherlock wasn't sleeping. It was three in the morning, and he was staring at the ceiling, his mind rolling in possibilities and fear. And he was angry about it. He shouldn't fucking _feel_ scared. He never felt scared. Death didn't scare him. But somehow losing John to this stupid competition was making him feel nauseous. This was awful. He just had to accept the fact that he only had three more days of pretending. Then John could reject him, he could go home, feel like a whore, and possibly kill himself. For being this stupid. So stupid.

So incredibly fucking stupid.

Nothing could erase his feeling of utter worthlessness. Not the violin, or the telly or any other distraction he could come up with. He was left to deal with the weight of his turmoil alone and head on.

And he had to meet John's family and there was no way he was going to be in a decent frame of mind and he couldn't even think, he was so fucking exhausted. All he could hope for now was that his brain would give out and he would lapse into unconsciousness for a few blissful hours. Maybe that would allow him to think enough to accept his defeat with grace.

X

He was already most of the way to John's rental when he found himself double-guessing his gift. Clearly he'd forgotten something important, but his brain was not digging it up with any kind of efficiency. The bottle of wine was heavy in his hands, and he was overtired, and desperately trying to remember everything he could have deduced about John's family.

Not too close to his family. They were never mentioned, never brought up voluntarily. Obviously John didn't spend much time with them or thinking about them. Sister in London. A sister that he didn't want to live with... because of clashing personalities and...substance abuse. _Shit_.

No, it wasn't necessarily alcoholism, but there was a good chance it was. Very common vice, and highly legal. There were far too many alcoholics for that reason. Either way, the odds were too high to gamble, and either way giving any kind of vice to an addict was probably in bad taste. Suddenly he was fighting the impulse to shatter the fucking wine bottle over his clearly brainless head. Stupid, stupid, _stupid_. He should have fucking bought chocolates or something more neutral. Or you know, remembered such a bloody obvious and critical piece of information. What the fuck was wrong with him? Oh...right.

Why the hell did he have to give them a gift anyway? Where was his present? He sure as hell had a lot more shit to go through than they did. He violently ditched the bottle in the grass at the side of the road, just as John walked up to greet him.

"Sherlock," John said with a big smile. Sherlock didn't have the time for this.

"John, listen, can you hold them off for fifteen minutes?" John looked bewildered and Sherlock continued his explanation. "I have to go get a better gift."

"Sherlock, I'm sure whatever you bought was fine," John said, hands on Sherlock's shoulders. The detective shrugged him off. "They're not picky. What did you get?"

He gestured wildly at the bottle on the side of the road. John's face fell into that particularly worried expression. The one Sherlock hated because it bordered on disappointment.

"I'm sorry, I should have remembered that your sister had substance problems. It was such a stupid thing to do. If you can stall for time, it'll only take me a minute to get something else."

"Sherlock, you couldn't possibly have known about Harry." John sighed. "Just because she's an alcoholic doesn't mean you should know."

"I _did_ know. This is my _job_." Sherlock's voice was far more desperate than he would like. "This was idiotic, but if you can wait, I can fix it. Please."

"I'll go with you," John said. "We can get some chocolates at the store over there."

John pointed to a little grocer's across the street, and Sherlock, practically dashed, John in tow, to go get something more suitable.

X

"I appreciate the opportunity to meet John's family," Sherlock murmured, with a false smile plastered on his face. "It will be wonderful, I'm sure."

He didn't really think that, but that's what the cameras wanted. He was nervous, and probably not going to make a good impression. He never seemed to. But he hated that he was nervous. _Hated_ it. He wasn't going to win. He would never see these people again. Why did he care if they liked him or not?

He didn't know why. That feeling was awful. All he knew was that he did. And it was absolutely disgusting.

"I do hope they like me." His last sentence was far more honest.

X

"Well, you two certainly took long enough," Harry said with a wink as they came in. She stood up and came over to shake Sherlock's hand. "You must be Sherlock."

"Indeed. Harry, I presume?" Sherlock tried to not snatch his hand away. He could already tell why John didn't want to live with her. She was forward, and very much an alcoholic - she had the eyes, the premature aging, the way her hand shook like she was in withdrawal. She looked rough, and judging from how gregarious she was being - her innuendos delivered with all the smoothness of a veteran at pick up lines and one night stands - she was probably promiscuous. The deduction carried added weight combined with the drinking which suggested this as well as the probability that she liked parties - and she was kind of abrasive. However she was abrasive not because she had any confidence, but more likely to grab as much attention as possible and dominate everyone before anyone could point out her obvious discomfort with herself and any vulnerability she might have. Sherlock hated her pretty much instantly. Pleasant. Great way to start the day.

"John told you about me? I'm impressed." She sat back down, and left Sherlock and John to find their own seats next to each other on the couch. Sherlock could feel the ghost of the other man's arm resting on the back of the sofa behind his shoulders, and fuck, it was the most comforting thing he'd ever felt at that point. John's mother brought a pot of tea in.

"I'm Cathy, love," she murmured, pouring him a cup. "John's mother. Do you take cream and sugar?"

"Lots of sugar, please." The please was an afterthought. Trying to keep his manners in place. "Pleased to meet you, Cathy."

"Me too, love. Me too." She poured tea for both her children as well. John took cream and two sugars. Sherlock stored that fact away, though at this point he wasn't really sure why.

"I hear you brought John over to the dark side," Harry joked. "I can see why - you're a handsome bloke, and he tells me you're smart too."

"John flatters me," Sherlock said, feeling a little trill inside him. He didn't believe a word Harry said, but hearing that John described him as intelligent was warming. "I only hope I can do the same."

"Polite," Cathy said with a smile. "That's always a bonus."

"I like to be good company." Oh boy. John seemed calm, but Sherlock just felt awkward. He hated these interminable pleasantries and he was in for a whole afternoon of them. Fantastic.

"So," Harry drawled out carefully. She had a malicious gleam in her eyes. "Have you and John gone at it, yet?"

"What?" Sherlock got out the confused exclamation before Cathy shrieked.

"_Harry!_"

Harry shrugged. "I wanna know. John can't properly tell if he's ready for a gay relationship without having sex with him."

"That's none of your business," John snapped, obviously ticked off now. "And we're not discussing it." The doctor imperceptibly moved his hand, fingers brushing the back of Sherlock's neck ever so slightly, almost as if it were a wordless apology.

"I'll assume you have then." Harry smirked, and Sherlock just wanted to wipe the stupid expression off her face. She was crasser than he had imagined. And to think he hated her before this. "We can talk about it later."

Sherlock fumed and watched her wink at him. He could easily kill her and strew her body parts on the street. It would be fun. But for now he was resigned to stewing. Oh, and blushing apparently.

"No, we can't," John sighed. "Don't you have anything better to ask him?"

"Fine," Harry grumbled. "What exactly is a consulting detective?"

X

"He's kind of a downer," Harry grumbled. "But I want to talk to him and make sure he's as into John as John is into him. Don't want my brother to be hurt."

She chewed her thumb for a moment before adding to that.

"Oh, and I want to drill him about the sexual aspects. It's so hilarious to watch the two of them blush."

X

"So what do you think of John?" Harry asked as soon as they got out to the patio. Sherlock sighed heavily. This was the _last_ person he wanted to talk to about his emotional problems. The very last. Absolutely, completely final person he would choose. And that was _including_ Anderson. He'd probably rather not say anything at all, if Harry was the only person to talk to.

Not like he really had a choice in the matter.

"Your brother is a good man. Far better than I deserve." At least this question was easy. "I'm shocked that he kept me for so long."

"Do you have feelings for him?" Harry was being obnoxious now. How could he be this far in and _not_?

"Of course I do. I love John. Very much. I wouldn't be here if I didn't." He was trying not to snub her. It was difficult. But really, she was starting to get to him. And he wasn't going to have to see her again after John rejected him. So what did it matter?

"So, do you top or bottom?" Harry's mischievous smile was back and Sherlock did not like it.

"Excuse me?" Was politesse really worth this? On the incredibly small chance that John did pick him, he wasn't going to cower from his family for any length of time. Especially not this bitch.

"You know. I don't see John taking it up the arse, and you're pretty, but you never know with gay men." Harry said that far too calmly. Sherlock squelched the desire to rip her face off, to be followed by his own as he felt the blood rush once again into his cheeks. Honestly, was this really any of her business? Why would anyone want to picture their own sibling in bed or know about their sexual habits? Oh god, this was not the time to be thinking about what that might mean in terms of Mycroft. For even making him think about his brother and sex at the same time Sherlock decided this woman had to pay.

"I know you're a drunk and a bit of a whore, but you should have some more decorum than that," Sherlock snapped..

"Who the hell are you to talk?" Harry snarled. Obviously he had hit her nerves. Somehow he was far too satisfied with that fact. "You don't even know me." Huh, her face seemed to contort with anger, but also something else. Maybe loss? Sherlock realized he probably shouldn't prod at it, but fuck, he was tired and angry and depressed and he was going to drag at least one person down with him.

"I can tell enough by how you act," Sherlock growled back. "I can tell you're a drunk and that your last relationship ended badly, and that you're promiscuous and jealous of your brother. You're pathetic. Not that you'll ever realize it."

Harry stared at him. "You bastard."

"You started it. I just finished it." He shrugged, watching every muscle in Harry's body tense and her hands form fists. She might hit him. Please, dear god, if she did let her knock him out properly so he could finally get some sleep.

No such luck. She just glared and went back inside. Pity. After a minute of considering his options of a) giving up and leaving now, b) pounding his head against the wall or c) going back inside and getting this damn thing over with, Sherlock followed. The sight of John looking back at him over his shoulder kept him going..

X

"What a bastard. I don't know what the hell John sees in that prick," Harry growled. "If he picks that asshole and marries him, I'm going to have to seriously question my brother's sanity."

X

"Well, I officially hate his sister." Sherlock seemed far too at ease with this fact. "And I can safely say she hates me as well. Delightful. At least his mother seems alright."

X

"You're such an intelligent man," Cathy cooed as Sherlock finished off his point of view on Spanish art. "No wonder John likes you so much. It must be wonderful to go to museums with you."

"It is," John said with a wistful smile. Sherlock felt warm and happy. Extra so as he watched Harry fume on the couch. "Sherlock always has something amazing to talk about."

"I'm glad to hear it," Cathy replied, flashing a smile back at her son. "It's been a very pleasant afternoon, Sherlock. I really appreciate your visit."

"I appreciate you inviting me," Sherlock returned, standing and shaking her hand. She wrapped him in a hug instead.

"Any time." His smile was a bit forced because of the hug, but he was happy to be getting out of there. John's mother was pleasant. Too bad his sister was such an utter and complete failure. Not that it mattered at this point.

John happily got up and escorted him to the door. It was nice to have John beside him. Like he had someone to watch his back. The sense of comfort John brought with him was amazing. Sherlock wondered how long it would take before he became dependent on it. He wasn't going to get a chance to find out.

John actually stepped outside with him.

"Thank you for coming," he said quietly. "I know that can't have been pleasant."

"With the exception of your sister, it wasn't a terrible visit." Sherlock found himself smiling. "She said some pretty offensive things, just so we're clear. Don't be surprised if she's not favourable towards me."

John surprised him by laughing, loudly. And then placing a kiss on his lips, slow and careful, like he might break. His smile got wider. "I won't be. Harry's not everyone's cup of tea. Or honestly, mine, for that matter."

"To say the least," Sherlock replied, tucking his hands into his pockets. "Well, still, be aware."

"I will be." John lingered. They should say goodbye. But they didn't. Like he was trying to spend every second he could with Sherlock. It was a long, quiet, silence before he said it. "Well, I suppose you should get back."

"Yes, I suppose. You need to talk to your family."

John grimaced. "Yeah."

"Don't look so happy." Sherlock ran his fingers along the side of the other man's face. John looked so tired, and just, well miserable. It made him worry. That in itself was odd, since he didn't really worry about anyone. John was made up of one exception after the other. "I'll see you the day after tomorrow."

"You will." John agreed, slightly tilting towards Sherlock's retreating touch. "I'll see you soon."

"Good bye, John." Sherlock turned and walked back the way he came.

X

John hovered a bit as he watched Sherlock leave. The detective looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, paler than normal. Almost as if he hadn't slept in a very long time. John hoped that wasn't the case. It was bad enough that he was losing sleep; Sherlock didn't need to as well. He was worried. No one deserved sleepless nights and heartbreak. Sherlock least of all.

"I don't like him," Harry said from her chair when John came back in. "He's kind of a prick."

"He seemed nice enough," Cathy said loudly. "Very educated, and a joy to talk to. I can see why you like him, John."

"I do like him," John admitted. "I enjoy every day I spend with Sherlock."

"John, you have horrible taste," Harry said with a huge dramatic sigh. "I think you should go with Sarah. If you marry that bastard I will never forgive you."

"That's nice," John replied, in his most neutral voice, even though he was tempted to scream at his sister just like they used to when they lived together at home. However, he figured it was a battle that wasn't worth fighting. He already knew that he wasn't choosing anyone based on Harry.

"I think they're both wonderful candidates." Cathy rested in her chair, her face looking pensive. "I want you to pick the one that makes you happiest."

"And how do I do that when they both make me happy?" John looked at his mother's pursed lips and odd facial expression. He wasn't sure what she was trying to say.

"I think you know, John. You just need to think about it differently. You're spending the rest of your life with this person. You won't have wonderful dates in Spain and loads of free time. You'll be working and managing bills and trying to get along. Forever. You need to pick the person you can stay with forever. And I think you know who that is."

Cathy stood up and walked past her son, stopping to pat him on the shoulder. John just watched. She wasn't helping.

"I'm going to go shopping, with my last few hours in Spain. I'll be back in a while, darling."

And out she went.

X

"It's good to know that my mother will be supportive either way, but I could've used a stronger opinion," John lamented to the confessional. "I have to make this choice in three days, and as of now, I don't know what I'm doing. And Harry's no help at all."

X

He went to bed that night feeling crappy, but not as much as usual. Nights of not sleeping had taken their toll on John Watson, and he barely had time to stress himself out before falling asleep. Nine in the morning came around before he was aware again and by that point he had to dash out to meet Sarah.

She got the first date this week. Sherlock got the last date before the engagement.

He met her at the Palazzo della Ragione - not that the location mattered. The frescoes and architecture were basically background to their conversation and John knew it. He wanted to have all the time in the world to have fun with Sarah, but what they really needed to do was talk about everything that was going on. That was what these last two dates were really about.

"John!" Sarah cried, running up to meet him. He caught her in his arms and landed a kiss on her smiling cheek. Just because this date was about such a weighty conversation, didn't mean that he couldn't enjoy her company as well. It might be the last time he saw her.

"Excited, are we?" John asked, casually. He already knew she was. He could see every bit of it in her face.

"Of course I am. We're having our last date. I should at least be ready to enjoy it." She took his hand, slipping her fingers into his. "Did your mother and sister get home alright?"

"Yeah, the trip was fine. I'm sure Harry's glad to be back in London." The two of them had left late the evening before, catching a red-eye back to England. John couldn't say he was sorry to see them go; when Harry wasn't pouting, she was teasing him about Sherlock. It wasn't a pleasant mix, and it certainly wasn't alleviating his stress levels. "Did you like visiting with them?"

"I adored it," Sarah reassured him. Were they really talking about the same people? John started to lead her through the arched entrance of the _palazzo_. "I never thought I would get along with them as well as I did."

"They were pretty fond of you as well. My mother said you were a darling."

"John, you're making me blush." She rubbed at her cheeks as if the redness would go away if she scrubbed at it. No such luck. "I'm just glad they liked me."

"They did." John leaned sideways to plant a light kiss on her ear. She giggled softly. "Are you ready to go look at frescoes?"

"Of course."

X

The inside of the _palazzo_ - which was a town hall in the medieval ages - was huge, empty, and painted along every wall. There were a few scattered monuments to look at, and the details of every image. Sarah trailed her fingers along the wall, looking at all the saints and dragons and figures. John could see her take in every minute detail as they wandered along the great hall.

At the moment, John was content just to hold her hand and follow her. He felt... melancholic. Bittersweet. Unsurprisingly, really. This was the exact reason he hadn't wanted to be a part of this production. It was a shallow thing that toyed with people's emotions. But he hadn't expected it to be so effective. He hadn't expected to be in love by the end of the show, and now he was unprepared and confused.

He watched Sarah's hair brush softly across her cheekbone. She really was a pretty woman. And he knew firsthand how sweet she was. He felt like everyone else was assuming that _of course_ he'd pick Sarah. Not even a question. But it wasn't that simple. It might have been if Sherlock hadn't been here. Sarah represented everything he had originally wanted. Sherlock was everything he hadn't known was an option until now. And now he wasn't sure that the perfect middle class life was really for him..

It was surprising when Sarah started up the conversation.

"Did you want to talk about our relationship?" she asked quietly, squeezing his hand for reassurance and making eye contact for the first time in a few minutes. "I don't know what you want to ask me, but I think it might help take your mind off of your decision if we talk about it. Then you can relax and enjoy yourself for a while."

John smiled weakly. Trust Sarah to try and make him feel better. Even though there wasn't really a chance that this _would_ make him feel better. But he could pretend for her sake.

"I'm not really sure what I want to ask you either." He paused, and looked at a fresco of a lady sewing. She looked like a medieval version of Sarah. "I suppose I should ask you what you would want from this relationship?"

"I want the same thing everyone wants," Sarah said with a small laugh. Not laughing at him, just herself. Good natured. "Someone who loves me as much as I love them. Maybe a family later on. Possibly children. Normal things. And I know I can have that with you, John."

That was pretty much exactly what he had expected her to say. Following the studio rules wasn't getting him anywhere.

"Do you think we'll be engaged by the end of the week?" Blunt maybe, but exactly what he was thinking. He didn't want to cut corners or not ask and regret it.

"I hope so," Sarah answered wistfully. "I feel like we have a very strong bond and have built something really special together. I want to be able to take that further, and I can honestly say I'll be disappointed if I don't get that chance."

"You don't seem too nervous," John replied. But not harshly. He wasn't here to reprimand her for _not_ being an emotional mess. God knows they had enough emotional messes with just him.

"I trust you," she answered simply. "If, for some reason, we don't get engaged I'll know you have a good reason."

John hoped he could live up to that. He didn't want to disappoint her.

One more thing came to mind and John wasn't sure if he should broach the subject, but at the same time he really wanted to know. "Sarah? What do you think of Sherlock?"

She hadn't been expecting that. He saw it in her face, a bit of mild surprise. She didn't run from the question, though.

"He's very intelligent, very interesting, and surprisingly handsome, but he's not a very nice person. Honestly, he's condescending and sometimes rude and just a little cruel. I mean, he was easy enough to get along with in a large group. But he belittles people like he thinks everyone should be as smart as he is. I can't really see him as a good spouse to _anyone_. But I suppose that's not my choice."

She was frowning, displeased with the whole question. John couldn't really blame her for that; she probably didn't want to talk about Sherlock right now. But he wanted to hear what she thought.

"You'd be disappointed in me if I picked him?" he asked, unable to resist. Sarah gave him a _look_.

"Yes, I can say I would be. I know it's not my choice, but I would never want you to end up with someone I thought might be a bad match for you. You're so kind and sweet. He's not."

Fair enough. But John didn't think he was that nice. He had a lot of bad in him, and a lot of rough edges. Sarah made him out to be perfect, and he wasn't. There was nothing about him that was perfect.

He wondered if that fact would break her heart more than a rejection.

X

They spent the afternoon looking at the upper levels of the _palazzo_ and wandering through the streets, stopping for some quick food before making their way back to the hotel. Sarah led him up to her room, and offered him a seat on the couch in her small sitting room.

"I've got something for you, John," she said happily, rummaging through her bags for a moment. John waited, patiently, feeling drained. He was excited; she didn't have to get him anything and he was touched that she had. But he was exhausted from the day, and from trying to be as happy as his confusion would let him. He was going to sleep well tonight in spite of himself.

She stood up abruptly, a small package clasped in her hands. It was wrapped in blue paper, and very neatly tied with a bow.

"Sarah, you shouldn't have gotten me anything," John protested with a small smile. She shushed him.

"Open it. It's nothing big."

He unwrapped a book. Filled with pictures and small comments, and little scraps of all the places they had been to together. All their dates. Everything he had done with Sarah had been immaculately catalogued, with her little notes, and handwritten letters. It was gorgeous.

"Sarah, this is amazing," he said reverently. It took a lot of work to put this together.

"It's not much. I was doing it for myself anyway. But I thought it would be nicer for you, to have all those memories catalogued and kept safe."

John pressed his mouth to hers, starting a long, deep kiss. Sarah pulled away first, and stood up, offering John a hand. He followed her to the door.

"I think it's time you head off now," Sarah said, punctuating it with a kiss. "I know you need rest, and time to think, so go take it alright? I'll see you in a couple days and we can talk more then."

"Alright," John said, not bothering to add the 'maybe' to her sentence. He was relieved to have some time to himself. He needed that time. "Thank you. For the present and the great day."

"Anytime, John." She squeezed his shoulder. "You needed a day to enjoy yourself."

"Yeah." He didn't tell her how exhausting it had been. "Good night, Sarah."

X

"It was a perfect way to finish our dates," Sarah cooed. She was practically glowing. "I hope it helped John with his decision. I hope he feels better. But I'm really looking forward to seeing him again in two days. I don't want to be disappointed."

X

John lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, very much unable to do anything but turn over the day in his mind. Sarah's book was lying on the coffee table, giving him an accusing stare. Or at least, he felt it was an accusing stare. _You don't appreciate her enough_. He couldn't help but feel that it was right. He didn't. He hadn't been able to take his mind off decisions all day. And everything she had said just fed into that.

She wanted the picket fence and children. Not like that was surprising. But John could see that. He could see himself smiling at the faces of his kids, and arguing over dinner and collapsing into bed, tired but happy. It really was what he had always wanted, and Sarah was exactly the girl he had always been looking for. And he liked the image.

What was sitting heavily was that she didn't like Sherlock. No one did, as far as John could tell, except his mother. He didn't understand why he could so easily appreciate the dry, condescending comments, and the blackened humour, and the bickering. Everyone else hated it. Or adored it in a very distanced way, like Laura did. John loved it. Even the bits that disappointed other people. Somehow Sherlock's callousness didn't bother him like it should. Sherlock was special, and he was different, and he was incredibly honest about how he felt - whether it was about art or people. That honesty, and the lack of cruel _intention_ was what John found endearing. Because what Sherlock said sounded cruel, but what Sherlock meant was a factual statement.

Belittling aside, of course. The man had a penchant for berating stupid actions and people until they couldn't stand it anymore.

But to hear Sarah talk about Sherlock as if he wasn't even a feasible candidate bothered John. No, people didn't see what John saw. But they should trust him enough to know whether or not a relationship was unhealthy. This one wasn't. He didn't have the picket fences and children and the perfect selection of marital bliss. But he could see himself picking Sherlock up from crime scenes, and arguing about the fingers in the freezer, or the last person to clean the kitchen. Even if they didn't have wild adventures, they would have a lot of good times together. Like they always did. But judging by the psychotic brother and the kinds of dates they had had, it would be amazing.

And completely opposite of the traditional lifestyle Sarah offered. Which he wasn't sure was a good thing. But wasn't sure was a bad thing. Really, he wasn't getting anywhere.

So if he could picture life with each of them, maybe the only logical thing was to picture life without them. Could he live without Sarah? Sherlock? How bad does it feel? It was the only logical approach he could think of right now.

If Sarah left? He would feel terrible. His stomach twisted at the thought. She'd be incredibly upset, disappointed, and probably broken hearted. He also had a feeling she would never talk to him again, which killed him to think about. It would be awful to know that he had hurt her that badly, and she couldn't forgive him. He could forgive her for leaving him. Easily. She deserved whatever she wanted and if that wasn't him, so be it. But if he left her, she wouldn't take him back. She'd probably spend a few months depressed and upset and he'd be responsible. But he couldn't help feeling that she would also move on. She'd find another boyfriend, maybe take her brother's advice and find someone better than her last few. Maybe she'd find someone better than John. A good husband with no war wounds. She'd pull herself back together and eventually get married and have the perfect life she always dreamed about. Without John.

And as sick as it made him feel, he would respect that. She deserved her happy ending and he hoped she got it.

So he would probably get over Sarah. Good to know. That didn't mean she wasn't the right choice. Being able to move on didn't mean that he could do so happily, or be alright later. And both of them could reject him. Maybe they didn't want a relationship. Would he be alright then?

Probably not. But he wasn't letting himself think about that option. He didn't want to lose control. Instead, he tried to picture Sherlock leaving him, or what would happen if he were rejected.

He couldn't.

X

After an evening lost in thought and a very crappy sleep, a date with Sherlock was incredibly relieving. John couldn't wait, in fact. He felt better, even if he wasn't sleeping. After a terrible night, he had made his choice. Now he just had to make sure he was making the right one.

Seeing Sherlock would help with that, though, if only to take his mind off it for a little while. He could enjoy this date, today, and worry about his choices tonight and tomorrow.

They met at the Santa Sofia. An old, imposing church made of red brick, with a crypt John was sure Sherlock would love to explore. And, indeed, Sherlock looked mildly amused when he came up to John.

"I hope we didn't decide on a religious date for irony, John," Sherlock greeted. The man looked even more tired than the last time John had seen him. "I'm not sure I have the peace of mind to appreciate it."

"It's an historic site," John said, trying to smile over his worry. "And there's a crypt built into it that I thought you might appreciate. Lots of dead bodies and a very creepy atmosphere."

Sherlock's smile crept further up his face. "I see. Lead the way, then."

"Have you been feeling alright?" John asked, as he took Sherlock through the heavy doors. Sherlock glanced at him than away.

"I'm fine." Sherlock was not fine. That particular tone of voice told John everything. Somehow the flat undertones were speaking volumes against Sherlock's false statement. And as he took the other's man hand he thought he could feel a slight tremble.

"You look tired," John pushed. He wanted to know. He wanted to help if he could.

"I am _fine_, John."

"You don't look fine." John watched Sherlock frown and bristle. Like John's worry was something threatening. He wasn't sure what there was to get defensive about, but signs of humanity seemed to threaten the detective.

"I am tired and slightly worried, but I am fine. Stop worrying about it and try to enjoy our time together, please?" Sherlock softened on the please. Something tugged around John's heart.

"Alright. But let me know if you get sick or something, yeah?" Sherlock didn't make eye contact. "I don't want you passing out."

"I won't pass out." The determination in his voice was almost scary.

X

Sherlock trailed his fingers lightly across the top of the coffin. He had been inspecting the architecture and the atmosphere and simply chatting. It was a good day, but an unremarkable one. John wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. He was too busy worrying over Sherlock.

He was trying to act normal. Keyword: trying. John could see the subtle changes. Every time Sherlock paused and had to ask John to repeat himself, every moment of too long silence, every tiny little fumble of his fingers told John that Sherlock was certainly _not_ at one hundred percent functioning.

And John wasn't surprised at how worried that was making him. He had a lot on his mind, but one of those things was Sherlock. And Sherlock wouldn't let him help. It was frustrating. More so because the two of them had to sit and pretend to be alright for several hours in front of a camera. All John wanted to do was grab Sherlock by the shoulders and shake him. Yell at him to give him the damn truth so he could help. It didn't matter what his problems were.. He wanted Sherlock to _tell_ him so he could fucking _help_.

And yet, he was playing make believe. Because neither of them wanted anything like that on film. Especially not on their last date. No one needed that kind of ending.

So instead, John chatted idly. About nothing. John _himself_ couldn't remember what he had said. Sherlock seemed to, though, so the conversation kept going. But when they had reached the crypt, there had been a lull. Sherlock had been absorbed in tracing coffins and statues and marble fixtures, and John hadn't the heart to interrupt him. He just watched the beautiful man slowly work his way through the room with a morbid and melancholic awe.

After a few minutes, Sherlock seemed to shake himself and come to a decision.

"I guess we're supposed to talk about our relationship, John," he said, calmly. The forced serenity was palpable. "I know you've been avoiding it, but we can't wait all day."

"Is there anything you need to talk about?" John asked, politely. He wanted to give Sherlock an opportunity to bring up any insecurities.

"No, no. This is about you. No dodging the subject." Sherlock did the same avoidance he'd been doing all day, deflecting the question himself while accusing the doctor of doing it himself. John could already sense that this conversation was going to go nowhere, as well.

"Fine," he sighed. Might as well just give in and give Sherlock what he wanted. They could fight about it some other time. "I guess I should ask you where you see this relationship going?"

"I'm avoiding the pessimistic answer for now, because I know that's not what you're asking," Sherlock countered, but with some hint of pain in his tone - as if John had reached out and hit him. "But if I were honest, I can see you as a permanent fixture in my life. Having you as a part of solving crimes and finishing cases would be wonderful. It's so rare I can find doctor that I trust. But more importantly, I enjoy your company. I can spend hours with you without feeling frustrated or having the urge to scream. And you seem to be comfortable with me as well. Could I spend the rest of my life with you? I'm certain the answer is yes. Absolutely certain."

Sherlock frowned slightly, as if he had not quite said what he wanted to. Or maybe more than he wanted to. John caught his eyes for the first time in awhile, before he looked away again. Down. Like he was hiding something.

"I'm really glad to hear that," John said, trying to sound cheery and not worried out of his mind. Something was really wrong with Sherlock. "It's relieving."

An exasperated sigh. Sherlock raised his head again.

"John, we are _all_ enamored with you. Anyone who isn't is a bloody fool. You don't have to worry about you, or your decisions, or anything else. You're the only genuinely _good_ person I've ever met. People know that and appreciate it. Stop fretting."

"I'm not that good." John didn't know what else to say. He wasn't. Sherlock made it out like John was perfect like Sarah did, and he wasn't. But he was absolutely touched that Sherlock thought so. "Thank you, though. It means a lot that you think that."

"John don't be so modest; you're good in every single way that matters," Sherlock snorted. "That's why you're the perfect candidate for this Bachelor nonsense. Everyone loves you. You break hearts and feel awful, even though not a single one of us deserves your attention. It's almost sad."

"I think you're flattering me. I'm not that amazing, and you are far more amazing than you're giving yourself credit for. Stop selling yourself short."

Sherlock twirled back to face the coffins again. "I'm not."

John tried desperately to ignore the pure hopelessness in the other man's tone - nothing good would come from that now - and go back to the previous conversation. "I wanted to ask you what you thought about Sarah."

Sherlock stiffened and forcibly relaxed. "Honestly?"

"As honest as possible, Sherlock." John wanted truth, not pleasantries.

"She's too perfect. I don't like perfect people, because no one really is flawless. It always ends up being superficial perfection, in my experience. I don't trust her, and I feel like she has something to hide, but that's my personal experience. Not a proper opinion, nor one I would suggest adopting." Sherlock still hadn't turned around. "But I do think she'd make a better than good wife. As expected. She's everything you deserve and everything you could need. A relationship with me doesn't offer any of that, and she offers all of it. I can't imagine why you'd want to pass that up."

"I don't necessarily want perfection." All at once it was obvious. Sherlock was depressed, quite badly, because he thought he had already lost. And John had no idea how to rectify that. His hands were completely tied. "And sometimes perfection isn't always traditional."

Sherlock simply snorted his disbelief.

X

They went back to Sherlock's room - which was coincidentally on the opposite side of the hotel from Sarah's - and brought some takeout with them. Nothing fancy. Stereotypical pasta and bread. Delicious, but not so healthy.

"Sit on the floor, John," Sherlock directed, sitting there himself. "There's nothing I hate more than food crumbs on furniture."

John smiled. Sherlock had lightened up a bit since after their conversation. Not a lot, but a bit. He settled himself on the floor in front of the sitting room couch.

"Are you ready for tomorrow?" John asked, casually. He was thinking of the trip home, the whole thing being over. Sherlock obviously wasn't.

"As ready as I can be. I'm sorry I don't have a cheesy parting gift for you."

"I don't need one."

The atmosphere was tense. They slurped noodles in relative silence for a few minutes. Neither of them really had anything to say, and everything just felt awful and wrong. Like something was slipping out of John's grasp and disappearing. It wasn't true, but that was certainly what it felt like. They almost didn't speak until after eating.

"You're sure you're alright with this, Sherlock?" John asked tentatively. It was hard to leave him like this. Hard to let him suffer inside his own mind.

"No, of course not, John. I'm not alright with anything." Sherlock tossed his plate of pasta on to the nearby desk and stood up, shaking himself. John followed him, even though he didn't really have anywhere to go to. "But I'm going to keep going, for your sake, so please, _please_, just let me be upset in peace. I'm sure I'll get over my pathetic angst." The detective sat heavily on the couch, sinking into it.

"It's not pathetic." John didn't have heart in his argument, but the words were honest. Nothing about Sherlock was pathetic. "You're allowed to be in love."

Sherlock's shoulders slumped. "I only believe that when you say it. That's why I love you."

"It's true." John could feel _exactly_ how feeble his words were. He wanted them to have more weight, more vibrancy. To let Sherlock understand just how true it was. John barely noticed as the cameras started to leave, figuring they weren't going to get much out of what was turning into an increasingly awkward conversation. Sherlock was silent, as if waiting for them to go. Once the door to the room shut, he started speaking.

"Look, John, we both know what's coming."

Sherlock paused, his blue eyes searing straight into John's, flooded with pain. It was such a powerful emotion, such a raw contact, that John almost felt himself reeling.

"Tomorrow you'll go out and you'll get engaged to Sarah and it will all be perfect." John opened his mouth, but the detective violently waved his hand effectively silencing him. "Stop. There is nothing you can say. She's fucking perfect and perfect for you in every way. She's everything you probably ever wanted and then more than that. Maybe you didn't realize that before, but you must by now."

John didn't know what to say; he was lost in how utterly devastated the other man seemed. He was nervously fidgeting, his voice dripping with emotion and just pure _hurt_. Everything about Sherlock was crumbling, and John felt like he was the only person who could see it.

"I fucking know it, and you fucking know it. She can give you things I'll never _ever_ be able to. And that fucking hurts. That fucking _hurts. _But I know I'm a bad person and I'm just..." he turned his face sharply away, facing the wall for a long pause before he stared at the floor, pressing a hand firmly over his eyes. "I'm not good enough for you, and that's not going to change. You deserve to be happy, and you'll be happy with Sarah. I love you and I can't take that away from you."

John sat back down beside Sherlock, overwhelmed. He couldn't say anything. There was nothing to say. And even if there were, Sherlock wouldn't let him. This was Sherlock's time for emotion, the time when he got to be the confused mess and not pretend things were okay. John wasn't sure if there was anything he _could_ say to make this better.

"I just fucking want you to be happy, even if I know it means that it all ends tomorrow and after that we'll never see each other again. Just, please..." Finally the detective turned his face back up at John who was only slightly surprised to see the glint of tears running down his cheeks. Sherlock forcefully wiped them away, almost with a tinge of anger. "Fuck, I'm sorry. I'm not used to dealing with things like this. What I'm trying to say is, please don't feel guilty or upset on my account. I knew what I was getting into."

Clearly he hadn't - not entirely - but John wasn't about to correct him. He couldn't rub in Sherlock's emotional inexperience right now. This was cruel enough as it was.

"And I know it's probably wrong, but...please." Sherlock took his hand in both of his, squeezing it tightly. "Before I have to watch you walk away from me, can I have one more night where I can pretend you never will? Will you please stay, John? Please."

How could he deny that kind of a plea? He couldn't. Especially not tonight.

"Of course I'm staying, Sherlock. Not even a question. As long as you want me here, I'll stay."

With that, the detective seemed to crumple into him, and John wrapped his arms around the other man, pressing him close. Sherlock was shaking, and John could feel the wetness of fresh tears through the fabric of his shirt. John was reeling at how vulnerable, and broken this formidable man had become, and it was all because of how much he loved him. His heart throbbed in his chest, wrenching with the emotions that were crowding it. Not being able to say anything or even knowing where to start, he held Sherlock with all the tenderness he could give as he sobbed almost imperceptibly into John's shoulder.

Running his fingers through Sherlock's hair, John's heart ached with how much he loved this man. _Fuck_, did he love him. The thought of not seeing him again was almost splitting him in two.

"Sherlock, of course I'll stay," he repeated, still missing a response. Whatever guilt may or may not be there he knew they both needed this right now.

Taking the detective's face in his hand, he tilted it upward, taking a moment to stare into Sherlock's eyes, before kissing him. The other man seemed to melt into him, and he felt a hand at the back of his neck, pressing him closer into the slow, languid kiss. Another hand was laid firmly against his chest, right over his beating heart.

Slowly and carefully, John started to undo the buttons of Sherlock's shirt as his tongue found its way into the other man's mouth. The detective's hands had now slid up under John's shirt; palms wandering over his torso seeming to soak in John's every breath and feel. It was sensual, and slow and still perfectly natural. Everything with Sherlock always was.

Even though they were moving at a crawl with a whole different set of emotions than before, this time felt more desperate with a whole new ache of need. He was getting hard, and he could feel Sherlock's erection pressing itself against his leg. As the detective's shirt slid from his shoulders, John couldn't help but plant kisses on the exposed alabaster skin. The soft lighting was a perfect warm glow, just what John wanted to feel. Everything should be warm. He figured Sherlock had spent several cold and empty nights in this room. And that bothered him. Sherlock shuddered, gasping for air, clinging to John whose mouth had moved to the pulse point on Sherlock's neck. The doctor was relishing the feeling of this amazing man, alive, and here with him.

"Please, John," Sherlock pleaded, the fingers of one hand dipping slightly below the waistband of John's trousers. John didn't need to hear any more. He stripped out of his clothes, and removed what was left of Sherlock's as he lifted the other man off the couch and guided him towards the bed. Sherlock lay down, knocking several books that had been sitting on the duvet to the floor, John wasted no time getting on top of him kissing him passionately with all the desperation of a dying man. He felt that desperate. Like his life could depend on this one night. It was going to be too much if he wasn't careful. Sherlock writhed underneath him, arching himself into John, hands on his waist. Their erections pressed together, causing them both to jerk with the sensation.

Sherlock broke the kiss to roughly open the drawer of the nightstand beside the bed. He dug in his hand and pulled out the bottle of lube from last week. He squirted some into his palm, before handing it over the John, who did the same. Then the detective's hand snaked down between them, taking a hold of both their cocks.

God, that felt good. John was struggling to keep his head as Sherlock slowly stroked them both, his whole body was screaming for more friction and more pressure. Spreading the lube over his fingers, John struggled to restrain himself. Passionate desperation wasn't a good reason to be rough. He could do this without hurting anyone, and he would. He had that much control at least. Slowly, sensuously, he traced the rim of Sherlock's ass before very slowly inserting one finger inside of him. Sherlock barely tensed at all this time, clearly focused on steadily stroking them both. John let a moan escape his throat, enjoying every fractured touch, the heavy breathing he could hear from the other man, everything. Everything was wrapping him in a cocoon of pleasure and need. Gradually he inserted another finger, hitting Sherlock's prostate. The detective's hand stopped moving as his hips bucked involuntarily.

"_John_! Oh, _fuck_, please," Sherlock rested his head on John's shoulder, as the doctor continued to stretch and stroke inside him. Adding another finger, John felt Sherlock's muscles again tense and relax. He continued working and pressing against the other man's prostate, until Sherlock was thrusting against him, clamouring for contact. It took a moment for John to position himself between Sherlock's legs, and slowly start to enter him. He was just as careful as the last time, watching for any indication that the detective was in pain or uncomfortable.

There was none, Sherlock's hands had settled on John's hips. He was panting and flush, half lidded eyes looking at John with a mixture of lust, emotional turmoil, and want. Finally John was fully sheathed, and it felt absolutely incredible and just _so_ good as Sherlock's muscles relaxed around him. Everything was lost in the fact that they were both together and enjoying everything they could. He wanted to hold on to something. Desperately. To keep him there.

He grabbed Sherlock's hands, one in each of his own, and started thrusting. Their fingers interlaced as they lay on the bed.

"Unh, _oooooh_." Sherlock was being more vocal this time, and likewise any inhibitions John may have had were dissolving as they both starting moaning together, lost in the steady rhythm of John moving inside of Sherlock. The other man writhed and rocked into him, meeting his thrusts, moans turning into a yell when John hit the right angle.

"_John!_ Please, _harder._" Sherlock's words were breathy, somewhere in between a whisper and a rasp.

John obliged, thrusting faster and more intensely as they melted together. He lowered himself down, closer to Sherlock who wrapped his legs around him, arms holding him close, fingers pressed into his back. They kissed and it was almost all teeth and tongue. Covered in sweat, breathing heavily in the same rhythm, John could feel Sherlock's heartbeat through his own chest wall.

This was the most intense sexual experience he'd ever had, as he felt Sherlock writhe, buck, and thrust against him. Heard his gasps, and moans, felt the nails in the flesh of his back and slight tremble of the other man's muscles. It was pure and reckless and absolutely amazing. Nothing could possibly compare. John knew he could barely hold on anymore, his climax burgeoning closer as Sherlock arched up into him pressing his erection along John's stomach.

John took at hand and stroked it down the detective's shaft, producing a shout of pure pleasure from Sherlock as his back arched even further. Another stroke and now Sherlock was thrusting into him uncontrollably. John was likewise finding it hard to control his own rhythm.

"John, _JOHN!_" Sherlock's orgasm was like an explosive chain reaction that led to his own release, overtook all his senses. The room and everything else disappeared as he clung to the detective, thrusting into him hard once more, screaming his name at the top of his lungs.

"_SHERLOCK!" _They probably heard that yell all across the continent or at least the hotel. But it felt good. Climatic. The burn in his lungs was completely worth it.

Gradually the room filtered back into his perception and John slowly slid out of Sherlock and rolled over to lay beside him, wrapping the sweaty, panting detective into his arms. It was a few seconds before either of them had recovered enough to speak.

"Thank you, John." Sherlock hair brushed against his chest, his fingers slowly tracing the outline of John's scar. John could help but kiss his head, enjoying the smell of the other man's hair and skin all around him.

"You have nothing to thank me for. I wanted...needed that as much or more than you did, Sherlock." He tilted the other man face upward toward his own, giving him a long lingering kiss. "I love you. No matter what happens I don't want you to forget that. Ever."

He ran a thumb along Sherlock's cheek, and the detective smiled wistfully his gaze never leaving John's.

"I don't think I could even if I wanted to," he said slowly, and quietly.

And that's when John Watson's heart started to crack, as Sherlock nuzzled closer to him, head on his shoulder, arm draped across his chest. This was his fault. He had broken this man and let him shatter because he wasn't supposed to tell him how he felt. It was horrible. And all he could do was hold the detective close. After a few long minutes, he felt the other man's breathing become slow and even.

It was no wonder he'd fallen asleep, John figured he'd probably barely slept for the last few days as the dark circles under his eyes and new pallor to his face testified to. John knew that there was no way he'd get any sleep himself. At least tonight. That was fine, though. Right now, there was nowhere else he'd rather be, and there was no better feeling than Sherlock's body next to his own.

X

It was seven the next morning when John quietly and carefully got out of bed and began to get dressed, groping the floor in the dark for his clothes. He was trying not to wake Sherlock, who was still sleeping like the dead. John knew he needed the rest, and he was loath to disturb him until just before he was ready to leave.

As predicted, John hadn't slept a wink, but it wasn't really bothering him right now. As pathetic and creepy as it may have been he'd enjoyed the time with Sherlock, even when he was unconscious. Listening to him breathe, feeling his skin, and his breath. Watching the softened features of his face and the almost imperceptible movements of his chest. Sherlock had barely moved all night, and when he did he stayed close to John, as if even in his sleep he didn't want to let him go. John would be lying if he didn't say he was absolutely touched.

He dressed quickly, then grabbed his shoes. Slipping them on, he went back towards the bedroom. He couldn't resist watching Sherlock sleep for a minute more. Sherlock was beautiful and he loved him and loved seeing him this peaceful especially after such a tumultuous evening. The day was going to be really difficult for him, so he tried to soak in all the peace he could. It might help him.

John sat lightly on the bed, taking a hand and stroking Sherlock's head until he started to stir, eyelids slowly fluttering open.

"Morning." John said softly as the detective's eyes focused, and he started to get up. John put a hand on his chest. "No, you need to sleep. I just wanted to say good bye before I left."

Sherlock frowned and lay back down. Pain written across his face.

"I'll see you soon." Sherlock said it like those were the last words he'd ever say, gazing up at John, running a hand along his face, fingers brushing his hair.

"You will." A kind of grief hung in the room, heavy and cloying. John knew he needed to leave before it got worse, so he leaned down and kissed Sherlock, deeply. Tongues tenderly caressed in each other's mouths, lingering, trying to hold onto the moment and stretch it for as long as possible. It felt like a goodbye.

John had to pull away, Sherlock waiting a second more before letting him go.

He ran his fingers through the other man's dark curls one last time before standing up and walking out of the bedroom. When he reached the door, he couldn't help but look back. Sherlock was sitting up staring after him. Legs curled up close to his chest, an arm wrapped around his knees.

"Good-bye John." He said, barely audibly, before turning his face away towards the wall.

It took all John had not to run over and comfort him. In fact, it took a lot more willpower than he thought he had. His heart was tearing open.

"Good-bye Sherlock." He replied, starting to open the door, getting ready to face the cameramen already gathered in the hallway. Before he did, he turned back one final time.

"I love you." John's voice seemed to echo through the room, and he had to leave and shut the door behind him before he broke any more of the rules. Broke any more of Sherlock's heart.

Nothing could possibly be worth this kind of pain.

X

For someone who was supposedly going to get engaged that night, John certainly felt like crap. And he was going to feel like crap all day. That didn't mean he'd made the wrong choice, though. In fact, if nothing else, he was now completely certain that he'd made the right one. But everything he did at this point was just going to solidify how awful he was being to these two people.

And right now he was talking to Dave about exactly how terrible he really was. At least, that's what the conversation was about on John's end.

"So, are you completely certain about your choice for today?" Dave asked smoothly, conducting his usual interview. "Any doubts or uncertainties left for you, John?"

"No. Not anymore. I am completely sure of who I've picked." John tried not to sigh or rub at his eyes. It wasn't classy.

"It's been a long journey. On one hand, you've got Sarah, who everyone thinks is the right person for you. And on the other, you've got Sherlock. A wildcard that stayed in the deck. Any chance of reconciliation with the runner up?"

John laughed harshly. They didn't say "loser," but that was how they'd feel. That they lost in the most awful way possible on national television. "No, not a chance. Neither of them would forgive me."

And that's what it came down to. They wouldn't. This decision was final.

X

The jeweler came with his metal case, shook John's hand, and sat down. They barely spoke before he popped the case open and showed him rings - half women's, half men's.

"This one here is beautiful for a lovely lady," the jeweler said, holding up a ring with a huge stone and a diamond encrusted band. "If she's the one, you might want to look at this. Or this one, if he is."

The band he pointed at for Sherlock was plain, a simple stone set into it. John didn't like either of them.

The jeweler and him went back and forth on styles for a little while before John picked out the one he wanted. The camera, predictably, focused on John's face rather than the ring.

X

"John, you're sure about this?" Steve said, grabbing him by the shoulder. John wasn't in the mood for a lecture. He was almost done. This was almost over. He could enjoy his new relationship and get some sleep and maybe grow back the hair he was losing.

"Positive," he replied, a bit of acid in his tone. Steve wasn't being unfriendly, but John didn't want to answer that question _again_.

"Okay, good. Just making sure. I don't want you to lock into anything because you think I want the ratings." There was Steve's false compassion. John knew he actually didn't give a shit if John screwed up his life. But John wouldn't; not over this.

X

"I'm nervous and excited, all at once,"

Sarah laughed. "This whole thing has been such an adventure, such a privilege. I never knew I could feel this way or find love so easily or find someone who complimented me so well. But I have. Nothing compares to that. Nothing. I'm not sure that I'll win but I really hope I do. I can't believe how wild and amazing all of this has been."

X

"Honestly, this whole thing was originally just a diversion. I'm not sure what else to say about it." Sherlock looked better than he had in a while. But still not entirely well. "But I am glad I came here, of all places. Otherwise I might not have met John. Any subsequent suffering on my part is worth that one event."

X

The cameras followed Sarah as she put her makeup on, carefully coating each lash as if making herself look prettier would change John's decision. It wouldn't, but the producers wanted her to look flawless and she was inclined to oblige.

She had been outfitted in a beautiful flowing green dress - ankle length chiffon billowing around her legs and clinging to her hips. She looked stunning. Undeniably stunning. And when she walked out of her room, she walked with confidence.

X

Sherlock didn't have makeup to put on. He was putting on a mask. Metaphorically. He needed to look more together than he felt. He could do that. But gathering the wherewithal to make it believable was going to be difficult.

More than anything, he felt like a fool in a tuxedo. And he was heading off to pretend he was okay with a rejection that would crush him. It wasn't his day, to say the _very_ least. If he felt meaner or had more energy, he might tell the cameras to fuck off. As it was, he didn't care.

He tried his best to walk with dignity, rather than to trudge.

X

Two separate helicopters. Sarah climbed into one. Sherlock, the other.

They both took off.

John was waiting in a grassy field. The helicopters circled above him, one just out of visual range. He couldn't see it, but he knew it was there. The other was coming in for a landing.

X

John watched carefully as Sarah gently stepped out of the helicopter. Graceful, smooth, and happy. She paused for a moment, talking to Dave, who led her down the path towards John. She looked so calm. Serene.

John gave her a kiss when she got to him. Gently, and softly, he hugged her, then held her at arm's length. He had his speech memorized.

"Sarah, it's been so great to spend my time with you. We've had some incredible dates and some really special time together. It's been... more than I can even express, actually." Her face lit up. John found he couldn't help but smile back, as muted as his emotions were. "Every moment with you was special, and every second is something I'll remember."

"So will I," she murmured back. John felt his stomach drop. He pulled forward the box he had been holding behind his back.

In it was her scrapbook.

"And that's why I won't be needing this. Every day is engrained in my memory." Her expression twisted into confusion. He wanted her to know what was coming. "But, I'm sorry, Sarah. I'm in love with someone else."

"No," she whispered, the colour draining from her face. "You're serious?"

"Yes, I'm afraid I am." She was just standing there. Staring at him. John forgot that rejections were a hundred times more awkward when the other party didn't see them coming. Now he got to experience that in the worst way possible. "Can I walk you out?"

"I suppose." She didn't take his arm. She didn't say anything. They just walked in silence. All the comfort that had been there before had dissipated. Gone. Dissolved. And it wasn't coming back.

When they got to the helicopter - where they were supposed to say teary goodbyes - they stopped. Sarah went to get in, without saying anything. Then stopped.

"I don't know why you'd trade up everything we have for someone as unbalanced as he is," she started, the blunt words sharpened with anger. He felt so callous watching the tears in her eyes. But he was sure about this. "You're making a stupid decision. Just because he's different doesn't mean that's what you want. If the novelty doesn't wear off I will be shocked."

"I won't be," John sighed, trying not to argue to vehemently. But he was going to argue. "This isn't just a novelty. It's not a shiny new experience. It's a person I love, deeply, and for a lot of reasons. He might not be perfect, but neither am I. All I really need is the right person for me."

"And I'm not it." He didn't say anything. She wasn't. "Fine. Goodbye, John."

"I'm sorry," John whispered.

X

Sarah didn't start crying for a few minutes, but when she did it was a torrent. The cameras were gone. The magic was gone. John was gone. All of this had resulted in heartbreak and nothing. It hurt. And she hadn't wanted it to. She had been so _sure_.

She buried her face in her hands and sobbed as they took her back to gather her things.

X

Sherlock crawled out of the helicopter feeling a little more rumpled than normal. Not that he looked it. His clothes were smooth and unwrinkled, and his hair was perfect. Even his shoes were polished. But emotionally, he may as well be buried under the covers back in his hotel room. He wanted this day to be over.

Dave met him right outside the helicopter, a ways from John. They clearly wanted a dramatic scene of him walking down to get his emotional kick in the face. Splendid.

"Sherlock," Dave said, a little icier than normal. Ah, pleasant. Even the production staff hated him now. Absolutely fantastic. "John's waiting for you."

"Thank you," he said, as polite as possible. Looked like he was walking alone.

Not that it mattered. John was waiting for him. Dopey smile, slightly too stiff military stance, hair getting shaggy from two months of being too busy to cut it. If he were less literal, maybe he could imagine that he were heading to his proposal. But he never was one for make believe.

The distance seemed interminable before he managed to get to John. There was a gentle kiss, and then John greeted him.

"Hello, Sherlock." A big smile. Just the kind of happiness Sherlock wasn't sure he could handle right now.

"Hello, John. I missed you." He had. Much to his chagrin. He should be more independent than that.

"I did too. I miss you every time you're gone." John looked sincere, and more melancholic. Better. John could suffer a bit too. "And I love every second I'm with you. Always. Being beside you is exhilarating, even when we're not doing anything. Being close to you is an amazing experience. It's better than any relationship I've ever had before, and it's something I never thought I'd feel with someone I never expected to love. And I haven't really been able to say it before now, but I do love you, Sherlock. Completely."

John was sincere. And Sherlock loved even that bit, which was slowly going to kill him. He knew the "but" came next, so he beat John to the punch. He just wanted to get it over with. No more melodrama.

"But you can't marry me, of course. Sarah's perfect, everything you wanted, and not a mess of a man." Unimpressed? That wasn't quite the expression he had been expecting form John. "It's alright. I just want you to be happy, John. Even if it isn't with me."

"Well, I want you to be happy, but I would certainly prefer it to be with me," John countered, his best exasperated voice coming out. Then he dropped to one knee and pulled out a ring. "Sherlock Holmes, will you marry me?"

"What?" Alright, maybe not the most coherent answer. But this had to be a joke. "You're not serious?"

"I am." John smiled. One of the cameramen was nodding furiously and gesturing for him to take it.

"Really?" More nodding. He looked around. Steve was even giving him the thumbs up sign while nodding and making silly expressions. Encouraging. "But Sarah was perfect."

John laughed, open and hearty. Better than Sherlock had heard in weeks. "And you're perfect _for me_."

He stood there, shocked, waiting. Waiting for the joke to set in, waiting for him to wake up and realize that, yes, he was still getting rejected today. Waiting for John to come to his senses and tell him to go play hide and go fuck yourself. Obviously he had gone temporarily insane. That sort of thing. No one moved but John, who was still smiling.

"Is that a yes, or am I going home alone?" He took Sherlock's left hand in his own. The detective could not believe this was fucking happening. Clearly the helicopter had crashed and he was in a coma somewhere. He didn't deserve this much happiness. But here was John holding his hand, waiting for him so say yes so they could ride off into the sunset together, waiting to start the rest of their lives together.

"That would most certainly be a yes." John slipped the ring on his finger and stood up. The doctor wrapped Sherlock in his arms, and he couldn't help but smile, probably more genuinely than he ever had in his entire life. He was overwhelmed with just how fucking relieved and just..._happy_ he was.

Their next kiss was deep and long and passionate. Perfect for the cameras. But also perfect for the two of them.

X

Sherlock's ring was beautiful. Three round diamonds, set into a band that was thick enough to obviously be for a man, with just a touch of detailing around the stones. It was hard to take his eyes away from it. And the more reality sunk in, the more shocked he was that he was actually John Watson's fiancé.

He had won. John was his. Nothing really could compare to that feeling. Sherlock didn't _win_ things. He wasn't lucky. But somehow he'd won John, and that was all the luck he needed. Every brain cell was busy celebrating. He had half a mind to go and watch Sarah leave, so he could rub it in her face. It was so tempting. He had hated her so badly, lost so much sleep, been so utterly messed up. And now she could have some of that back, taken out of her ethereal calm. But he didn't have time to gloat.

John walked out of the shower, a towel tied tightly around his waist. He sat down on the bed beside Sherlock.

"You alright?" he asked, quietly leaning in for a kiss on the cheek. Sherlock wasn't the only one who was overjoyed. John hadn't stopped beaming since he'd said 'yes'.

"Perfectly. As long as you are." They smiled at each other, both tired and elated.

"Why wouldn't I be?" John stretched a little, his bare skin giving Sherlock a small shock of excitement.

"You may have changed your mind. I wouldn't want you to make a hasty decision. Or pick me because you slept with me. I don't need that kind of victory."

John's face always seemed to have a fond, exasperated smile on it these days. Sherlock wondered if he was going to grow to hate that expression. But he didn't think so.

"Sherlock. I didn't choose you because I slept with you. And I _am_ sure. I don't make decisions like this so easily." He felt John's hand settle on his knee. "I picked you because I'm sure I love you. I couldn't pick Sarah. I couldn't sleep with Sarah. I didn't love her as much as I love you, and I wouldn't do that to either of you."

Sherlock sighed. John was better than he deserved. "That doesn't mean you want me forever, though."

"I do. I spent _days_ deliberating this, Sherlock. Possibly longer than that. I can live without Sarah. But I couldn't even imagine you leaving. I don't want to picture that." John's voice had gotten thicker, more emotional. "I can't lose you. I can't go back to London and know you're there and I'm not with you. There isn't a better person for me out there, and I know that already. And really I should have realized it sooner, from the first time I saw you."

"How could you possibly know that?" Sherlock scoffed. John was being emotional and over dramatic. "There are billions of people out there."

"And they're not you." John sighed, and slid his arm around Sherlock's waist, comfortably drawing him into an embrace. "I've never been so utterly involved with someone before, and I am because it's _you_, not someone else. You're the only person who could do this to me. Stop doubting, Sherlock. I love you more than anything, and I'm never letting you go."

Sherlock didn't say anything. He just wanted to enjoy this. Whether John was right or wrong or pacifying him and about to leave as soon as they got back to London, he didn't care. He wanted to breathe him in and feel every inch of skin and just revel in the moment. His hand trailed softly along the edge of John's towel.

Their lips met, mouths open, tongues intertwine, everything pushing forward to meet each other. The passion wasn't subdued this time; there wasn't a melancholic overtone. It was just the two of them, smiling at each other, slowly exploring with their hands. John was already pushing off Sherlock's shirt, dragging off the remnants his tuxedo. The sensation of fabric brushing across his skin was almost as powerful as John's fingertips, or the warm resistance of John's body under his own hands. Everything was magnified. They had the luxury of time and happiness, and they were damn well going to use it.

Their clothes slid to the floor almost too quickly for Sherlock's liking, the lingering sensations turning into the smooth friction of flesh on flesh. Not that he was going to complain about that. He could barely breathe. His hands ran across John's abdomen and over his chest, mapping out the area blindly, while his mouth was occupied. The two of them had barely separated. Sherlock was hard, and he could feel John's erection pressing against him..

His hand trailed down John's hipbones, slowly reaching its target. The first time they pulled apart for more than a second was when Sherlock took John's cock in hand.

"_Sherlock_," John gasped, heavily. His body bucked against the detective's with every slow, lingering stroke. After a moment, John regained enough control to get his hands on Sherlock, and try to match the rhythm.

Sherlock's mind almost went blank with the first of John's touches. He lay on the bed, John kneeling above him, supported on three limbs, and tried to will his hand to keep moving. Tried not to stop. John was swirling his fingers on the tip of his cock, and using different pressure, different motions. A variety that came from experiencing what he liked. Sherlock couldn't help but feel himself writhe beneath John's touches. He might not have that experience, but he was told he was a quick student.

"Aaaah," John moaned, grinding into his hand, and wriggling as Sherlock loosened the pressure. Neither of them had much energy to dedicate to thought right now. Even Sherlock's ever active brain was narrowing its focus. They had lost everything in the feel of each other. The thrusts of their hands, the quiet motion of back and forth. John's head rested heavily on Sherlock's shoulder after a particularly violent thrust.

The panting directly in his ear, combined with John's soft noises and the feel of sweat and fingers and pleasure were quickly pushing Sherlock over the edge. He was losing control of his strokes, lost in John's touch, and the soft noises that came with it. John's teeth bit lightly at his shoulder, hard pressure giving him just that little bit more sensation.

"John," Sherlock whispered. "_John!"_

John stroked twice more, hard and fast, before Sherlock reached orgasm. His senses flooded, eyes closed, spasm rocking through him, ejaculating onto John's chest. His head tossed back, back arched, he could feel every muscle scream. In a very, _very_ good way.

When it finished, he looked up at John's heavy-lidded smirking face. He was panting, gasping for his breath back, but he didn't give John a chance to ask if he was alright. Instead, he started up again, more of a mind to it this time, stroking John's cock and creating as much friction as possible, giving the other man no time to think or react. Everything was pure, unbridled lust.

John bucked and gasped, and bit down hard on his shoulder. Faster. It only took a second before John was coming above him, barely able to support himself. Sherlock stroked him through it, John's semen spilling onto his chest and abdomen, then let the other man collapse beside him.

John rolled to his side and pulled him into a passionate, messy kiss. When they broke away, he sighed, and let himself lop back onto the bed.

"That was amazing." John's legs hooked themselves around Sherlock and pulled him closer. Sherlock found himself shifting so he could rest his head on John's shoulder, and let his eyes drift close.

"Not only did I get a handsome doctor, I've also won a sex god. I have to say, the prizes on this show are amazing." Sherlock's self-satisfied smirk was swallowed with a yawn.

"I dunno, I think I got a pretty fabulous prize myself," John returned, smiling but obviously worried as he felt the doctor's eyes on his face. "That was incredible."

"It certainly was," Sherlock murmured, sleepily. He couldn't open his eyes. He felt like that should be concerning but he was too exhausted to care. "I love you, John."

"I love you," John returned, his fingertips brushing away Sherlock's hair. "Let me get a cloth and clean us up."

Sherlock grudgingly shifted to the side, not bothering to open his eyes. The bed was so comfortable. Unbelievably so. He felt lucky to get to sleep there tonight. With John. Right then, everything was perfect.

By the time John got back with a damp cloth, Sherlock was asleep.

X

John sat down heavily on the bed, worry invading his new sense of calm as Sherlock didn't even move. Could he really have come this far only to have the love of his life die after celebratory sex?

Then the detective took a deep breath, and John felt himself smile. This was the love of his life. Absolutely, and with no doubt. Sherlock was beautiful, and his. His heart, his life, and his everything. The feeling was so strong, he was beginning to wonder why it was so hard to see it before. Why the last couple of weeks had even been such a dilemma. John knew this was where he belonged.

He used the cloth and cleaned them both off, Sherlock omitting a slight grunt as he wiped his torso. Clearly he wasn't about to wake up any time soon, and John found himself almost hysterically happy at the fact that the next morning he wouldn't have to get dressed and go and pretend to be fine.

He got into the covers, tucking in Sherlock who was sleeping on his side, face turned toward John. Seven o'clock in the evening wasn't really a great time to go to bed, but considering the events of the last few days, John honestly didn't give a damn. He slipped an arm around Sherlock's waist, feeling his smooth skin, again marveling at how much he loved this man.

That's when he noticed the detective's left hand, which rested on the pillow between them. The ring glittered on his long, thin finger, a testament to what they had gone through.

More important, however, was what it meant now, as John kissed Sherlock on the cheek, and put his own head down.

It meant that Sherlock Holmes and John Watson would be together until death do they part.

Stay tuned next week for _John Watson, Bachelor: After the Final Rose_!


	11. Epilogue

John Watson: After the Final Rose

John woke up wrapped in Sherlock's arms. Warm. Comfortable. Happy. Everything he had wanted for a very long time. There was something to be said for sex as stress relief. Or at least a very satisfying way to culminate an incredibly painful two months. Even though Sherlock's rather bony knees were putting pressure on John's hipbone, it was perfect. Almost disgustingly so. And John refused to let anyone begrudge them that right now. They were happy, and they could damn well enjoy it.

Besides, Sherlock was beautiful when he was sleeping. And when he was awake, but John felt less awkward staring at someone who didn't _know_ he was staring. It gave him a good chance to examine everything. Beautiful curling hair, long, soft eyelashes, the perfect jaw line. A body that was slightly too thin, with just a hint of muscle definition. Sherlock was amazing to look at. Even down to the freckle just behind his ear. John would try to memorize every feature, every contour, every inch. Because he could.

He was allowed to have tender moments now, and say what he wanted to and not give a shit who thought what about him. After weeks of rules and restraints and drama, it didn't surprise him that he just wanted to lay there and take in the moment. Take in Sherlock.

He had a few minutes of silent enjoyment before Sherlock started to stir. Not like that interrupted John. All it did was add a bit of stupid grin to the smile on his face.

"Morning," he whispered. "Sleep like the dead did you?"

Sherlock wasn't quite awake enough to answer. Rubbing his eyes and rolling slightly away from John he blearily responded. "Why are you so damn chipper?"

"I usually get up a lot earlier than this. And I've managed to get _some_ sleep recently, which must have been better than you were doing." John twined his fingers into Sherlock's hair and planted a kiss on his nose which the detective wrinkled, a smile spreading across his lips. "Ten o'clock isn't exactly early."

"When is checkout?" Sherlock asked with a yawn. "Eleven?"

"Yeah."

"Alright. I'll try to get ready." Sherlock started to sit up, but John's arm held him down.

"Don't. We don't need to go yet, and I'm enjoying this. Take your time, Sherlock." John's head rested on the other man's chest, arm pulling him a bit closer. "We can hurry later."

They didn't have much time together. John knew that. And he wanted to savour every second before he had to go.

~X

"Excuse me?" Sherlock asked sharply. "What do you mean separate flights?"

They were standing in the airport, beside an empty check-in desk, waiting to be sent home. Of course this is when Steve wants to talk to them. _Of. Course_.

Steve raised an eyebrow with a cold expression on his face. "Did you expect to be going home together?"

"Well, _yes_, he's my fiancé," Sherlock growled. John's arm came up to his shoulder, trying to get his attention, but he shrugged it off. Why could nothing be easy for the two of them? They were not going to force this decision on him. Wasn't it supposed to be over now? "And I'm sure he doesn't have a place to stay. So he can come to my flat."

"You didn't read your confidentiality waiver, did you?" Steve asked bluntly, and then sighed. Sherlock could tear his head off. Why would he have read the waiver? _He wasn't supposed to have won_, and he'd been banking on that reality since day one. Now here he was, and he was obviously missing something incredibly crucial. "You can't see John for a while. At least two weeks, and unless you're incredibly covert, you really shouldn't be living together."

"Why the hell not?" He was not going to let ratings spoil his one and only romance. It wasn't right. And John obviously didn't want to head home alone either. Or at least he hoped not.

"Because if you spoil the ending to the series, you also spoil our ratings, and thus our paycheques. And then we have to sue you." Steve forced a smile out and then let his words smash it back into a frown. "And that reality comes from the people who finance me, and is not my personal decision, so don't try to peg me as the bad guy."

No. No, Steve was still absolutely and completely the "bad guy" in Sherlock's opinion.

"Then I'll risk the lawsuit and take him back with me anyway." So he loses some money. Not the first time he'd worked for free, and it wouldn't be the last. Besides, all he really needed was John. And John was coming with him.

John's arm looped through his and the doctor leaned heavily on his shoulder.

"They're guaranteed two hundred and fifty thousand pounds if we go to court. It's in the contract." John's voice sounded defeated. He couldn't have mentioned this beforehand? Like before they got to the airport and he made an ass of himself? "I'm sorry. I thought you knew."

Argh. Everyone around him was an idiot. _He_ was an idiot. What kind of fool doesn't read the contract he's signing, no matter how slim his chances are of having to use that information? Oh right. Sherlock. And almost everyone else. Fuck, was he really reduced to the intellectual level of everyone else? That was a bit disgusting. But really, why read some long legal jargon that will never ever, remotely, apply to you?

Because when you don't expect it to, it does. Sherlock could die right then and there. Embarrassment, shame, the horrible feeling of stupidity. Neither of them could afford that kind of fee. John was on a pension, and he barely had an income, much less a steady one. Mycroft could afford it. But what he'd ask for would be worse than the original punishment.

Sherlock didn't really fancy becoming his brother's personal errand boy for some indefinite period of time, especially not because he couldn't keep it in his pants for a couple of weeks. He loved John, but...well, someone would die if that happened and he couldn't guarantee it would be Mycroft.

"I know, it's not pleasant, and I'm sorry," Steve said, with some actual sympathy in his voice. A rehearsed speech. He probably had to go through this often. "Every time we have to do this to someone, I feel terrible. But you can call, and I think both of you can be discreet. You'll see each other soon enough." Yes, Steve, you feel terrible but not terrible enough to forgo any thought to ratings. That's really kind of you.

"I'd like to talk to John in private now." Sherlock watched Steve's frown deepen.

"Alright. Suit yourselves." And he left, leaving them alone.

"Do you have your mobile on you?" Sherlock asked abruptly. "I'll give you my number."

"It's in my suitcase," John said, sheepishly. Sherlock tried not to pull a face. Why would he do that? People use their phones. Often. On airplanes. Or in his case every five seconds whether the attendant told him to shut it off or not.

John grabbed a pen and paper from the check in desk. "Here, write it down."

Sherlock scribbled his number down, while John did the same on another sheet of paper. And then they traded.

"Don't you dare lose that," Sherlock said, smiling slightly. He still had John. He could accept the rest of this nonsense as long as it came with John. "I'm not sure I can survive two weeks without hearing from you at all." That felt awkward to admit out loud but it was completely true.

"I'll call." John said. He seemed sincere. And he almost looked like he was going to cry. But he didn't. Sherlock wiped a thumb under the other man's eye, anyway, just an excuse to touch him. "Don't forget me in the meantime."

"How could I?" Sherlock asked quietly. He leaned in and gave John a deep, penetrating kiss, that the two of them held for just a bit too long. Fortunately, there weren't many people to stare. "I love you, John Watson."

"I love you," John replied quietly taking his hand for a moment and squeezing it tightly. "And I'll see you soon enough."

~X

John spent the entire trip back to London clinging to that scrap of paper. He held it during the flight, worrying his thumb around edges, trying not to rub any of the numbers off. The paper softened slowly, and was much weaker by the time he disembarked. He had to shove it roughly in his pocket to carry his luggage, though, and thoughts of the number's safety dissipated as he dragged his belongings around and hailed and cab and set off to Harry's place.

John wasn't happy to be shipped off to Harry's with only Sherlock's phone number in his pocket not the detective himself. He wasn't going to bother to get his own place for such a short period of time. So it was either a hotel, or Harry's place. It's too bad she wasn't in the two bedroom with Clara anymore; not only did Clara make Harry almost tolerable, but the two bedroom would mean he was sleeping in a bed - no matter how crappy - rather than on the couch. Facing the kitchenette.

Harry called it her "bachelorette pad." John just wanted to not be there. It was on the opposite side of the city to 221B, and rather close to Sarah's apartment, based on what she had told John. He wasn't sure he wanted to see Sarah right now, let alone potentially talk to her..

"So," Harry asked, as soon as John showed up on her doorstep, "who'd you pick?"

John pushed her back inside. He wasn't talking about this in the hallway. She was probably going to scream enough that her neighbours heard everything through the thin walls. The whole building didn't have to hear as well.

"Close the door," John said, making his way to the couch he was about to call home for a fortnight. It was comfortable. At least he had that.

Harry closed the door, locked it, and followed him. "She reject you?" His sister seemed to almost be concerned or at least slightly softened. That was new but John knew it wouldn't last through his next sentence.

"No, _I_ rejected Sarah," John said, heavily, bracing himself for the ensuing row. Harry didn't say anything just yet. "And Sherlock accepted."

"You seriously picked that bastard?" John felt his eyes close and rubbed at his temples.

"Just because Sherlock doesn't like you and you don't like him doesn't mean he's a bastard." John sighed and settled back into the couch, trying to regain some sense of relaxation. "And I love him. If I didn't, I wouldn't have chosen him."

"Someone like _that_ makes you happy. I never did get you," Harry said with a laugh. Granted it was a laugh tinged with exasperation and anger. "Seriously, John, to think you would go and do an about face in sexuality over such a prick."

Harry seemed at least partially amused. That was better than John had been expecting. Far better. He had some hope for his time with his sister, now. "Does this mean you're not going to make a fuss about it?"

"Oh hell, no," Harry returned, vindictively. "You're going to hear about it 'til the day you die."

~X

"Sherlock?" Mrs Hudson asked as he came through the door. Instantly, he found himself smothering in old woman, and affection. This was unpleasant. "Did you win, love?"

Sherlock pulled out of her embrace, and exhaustedly waved his ring finger in her face. She instantly squealed.

"Oh, just wait until I tell Mrs Turner. She'll love it! Is John coming too?" Sherlock didn't answer but did let her bully him into a seat in her kitchen. "He must have to get his stuff."

"You can't tell Mrs Turner and John isn't coming." Sherlock sank down, resting his head on the table just a little bit forcefully. "I can't even see him for two weeks, and then not in public."

"What?" she gasped, putting her hand on his shoulder. "Why on earth not?"

"We signed a confidentiality waiver. It might spoil their ratings if the public finds out that I won before the first episode even airs." Mrs Hudson's hand was not comforting. In a moment she took it away and went to make some tea.

"Oh, Sherlock. It'll be alright. You've done so much." He couldn't see her, but the sympathy was dripping from her voice. "If you've come this far, you can survive two weeks, I hope."

Two weeks may as well be forever. Right now, Sherlock just wanted to sleep. And potentially make obscene phone calls to Steve. Or maybe Dave. He'd settle for that. Someone connected to that production had to pay dearly for this kind of suffering.

~X

John dug through his coat pockets one more time. Seriously, he had unpacked and hung his coat in the closet and he was _sure_ he had had it last night. Or at least he thought he had. He actually didn't remember too much about what he had done after the flight. He wasn't feeling the best and he was lonely already, and honestly? He'd had a crappy night.

But now he couldn't find his one lifeline. The scrap of paper with Sherlock's phone number on it was missing.

Shit. He grabbed Harry's open laptop and did a quick search of phone listings for Sherlock Holmes. Nothing.

Well, fuck. He wanted to talk to him. Talk about getting home and resting and what they were going to do to get John moved in subtly. And now he couldn't.

He missed Sherlock. Far more than he should, really, considering they hadn't actually lived together or been able to see each other outside of structured dates. But he really did. It was painful how acute the absence was. Like a hole in his life that had a big "Sherlock goes here" sign. Something he didn't know he had been missing, but now couldn't live without. He couldn't walk down the hall and talk to him anymore, if he needed to. He couldn't sneak over to Sherlock's room in the middle of the night. He couldn't even call.

But Sherlock had his number, right? It couldn't be too long before the detective called him. He was sure Sherlock missed him as much as he missed the detective.

~X

_Having a gay old time, on the Bachelor_ the terribly punned title read. Sherlock saw his face splattered on the tabloid and instantly panicked. Anonymity breached. He knew this had been coming, but he hadn't been prepared. Nothing could prepare him for seeing his face in print, on the front cover of the trashy magazine an old lady at the supermarket was reading. Nothing. And he needed to leave. _Now_.

He turned, quickly, head down, collar popped, hoping his coat and hair would hide his face enough to get him out of here before someone recognized him. Before _anyone_ recognized him. Before the old lady or the woman running the counter looked up and put two and two together.

People were stupid, but not _that_ stupid.

He didn't need garlic that badly, anyway. And if he did he'd steal it from Mrs Hudson. Could he survive on just takeout? And not face the delivery man?

He just wanted to not have to be seen ever again. All his personal struggle, all his inner conflict, everything he had worked for, his air of mysteriousness, his recognizable but chameleon presence was about to disappear. How do you pretend you're Joe from next door or Mr Smith's old friend if you've had your face plastered all over the media?

Oh god. His world was crashing around his ears. He couldn't get to Baker Street fast enough.

~X

"What's wrong, Sherlock?" Mrs Hudson called after him, as he came careening through the door, frantic.

"I think I may have inadvertently become somewhat famous," Sherlock replied, out of breath. "I'm just going to go hide in my flat and not come out until everyone forgets about me, if that's alright with you."

"What do you -"

Mrs Hudson's voice was muffled by the solidly closed and locked door of Sherlock's flat.

~X

It was odd for John to be the one sitting beside the hospital bed, rather than in it. Though the ward was nicer than John's and Geoff was entirely mobile and seemed a lot happier than he had when John last saw him. The younger man had smiled and cheered when he came through the door, not expecting a visitor so soon.

"John," he called, cheerily. "You came to see me?"

"Of course, I did," John laughed, taking the chair beside Geoff's bed, watching as the other man cleared his books away. "It was first thing on my list."

"I thought 'honeymoon' would be the first thing on the list," Geoff joked, lightly. He leaned heavily on his elbows, the bags under his eyes becoming more noticeable when the light hit them directly. "Did Sherlock win?"

"Yeah, he did." John smiled back at him, just glad to know that he was still breathing. He might not have been if it weren't for Sherlock's advice. John wouldn't have a lot of things, if not for Sherlock. And that was sobering and powerful and made John feel lonely. He still hadn't heard from the detective. He was an idiot for losing that number. He fucking deserved the slow pain of not being able to even hear Sherlock's voice.

But Sherlock didn't. And Geoff didn't deserve to have to watch John break down.

"That's top secret, though. I can't even see him for a few weeks."

"Wow, that blows," Geoff said without any real sympathy. John couldn't blame him for that. "You doing alright?"

"Fine." John wasn't about to say otherwise. He wasn't going to unload his personal problems on someone who had more than enough of their own. "I'm more worried about you."

"Been doing better since I moved in here." Geoff shuffled his books once more, avoiding eye contact. "I turned myself in, you know."

"Because of my advice?"

"No, I saw a therapist on your advice. She suggested I look in to mental health facilities." There was a lot of emotion on Geoff's face, but John wasn't sure which emotion. Sadness, maybe? Regret? "I went through a lot of shit after Paul died, and I didn't really have anyone else to turn to. It's stupid and I feel like I should have been able to do it on my own, but I got support here. And I needed that support."

John put a hand on his shoulder. "Needing support isn't stupid."

"Yeah, that's what they keep telling me." Geoff smiled, just a little, just for a moment. "And it _is_ helping. Crude as it is, I don't feel like killing myself most of the time, now. I just needed someplace to accept that I needed to get over Paul. That it wasn't my fault and it wasn't his fault and that I'll always have regrets because of it. He was a hell of a lot more to me than my best friend and I never bothered to tell him."

And that was it. Tears had welled up and started rolling in a few milliseconds. John just watched as Geoff collapsed in on himself, hands pushing in to his eyes like they would stop the tears from coming out. They didn't, but John let him cry, rubbing his shoulder softly for support.

"I'm sorry, Geoff," he whispered. There wasn't much else to say. "I'm sorry."

"You're the first person that I've actually _told_, outside of group therapy." Geoff's voice was surprisingly calm. He seemed to have control of himself after another second, even if his eyes were red and wet. "It's a pretty fucking big deal, but I'm working through it. Just because he's gone, doesn't mean I have to totally forget he existed. I just have to learn to deal with it."

"You can do that. You're tough and smart." John took his hand back and watched the boy redeem himself. "And, hey, if you want me to stop by your hospital bed every day with video games, I can do that too."

They both grinned. And then Geoff's face crumpled a bit, and the tears seeped out the edge of his eyes. John felt his own tears welling too. There was too much for either of them to deal with.

They spent most of that afternoon joking and crying.

~X

"Joh- Hello?" Sherlock asked hopefully and blearily into his mobile. It was four in the morning. Tuesday morning. He _had_ been sleeping. Or at least in some state of unconsciousness on the couch. Sleep was so rare for him these days. But if it was John, he would happily skip sleep.

"Sherlock?" A high pitched squeal of a voice said. She had a bit of a... Texan accent. Definitely not John.

"Speaking." No need to give more. A client would give him information. Any one else could piss off.

"I just saw the first episode, and I totally just found your number and I have to say, I'm really rooting for you on The Bachelor!"

He wasn't quite sure what was going on, but obviously someone had to be stopped.

"It is four in the morning." He let every bit of the acid in his soul spill into his words.

"Really? Oh my gosh, I didn't even think of the time difference. I am _so _sorry. It's only ten, here."

He wished he had the ability to reach through phones and punch offensive callers in the face. However, there were more important questions to deal with. What the fuck? They were airing the show in the United States too? And she had his number?

"How did you get my number?" He wasn't in the mood for anything less than direct question and answer.

"Oh, I totally found your website! This deduction thing you do looks amazing."

And that was when he hung up violently, and hurled his phone somewhere into the kitchen.

~X

Three calls later, he had almost thrown the damn mobile out the fucking window. He was awake for better or worse, so he grabbed his computer and took down his website. Phone number, casework, notices, all of it. And then he shut his mobile off. The next day he was going to spend switching his number, rearranging his website, and dealing with hell on his own.

It had been three long, lonely days at this point. No word from John. He could call. But John was probably under more pressure than he was, being the star. It wasn't right to bother him and John had good judgment when it came to these things. Trust. He could trust John.

Not that trust stopped him from feeling cheated and lonely and hurt. John hadn't done anything. And that was the problem.

If John was second guessing he just wanted to know. He wanted to be there to talk to John. But he wanted to hear that voice. Even if a large part of him wouldn't be surprised if John just told him he wasn't into men and left.

Two hours of sleep. Two hours of sleep and he could take his mind off John for another day and just focus on not having to feel. He was feeling way too fucking much right now, and it was compromising his ability to function, to think, to do absolutely anything at this point. Sherlock thought the pain would be over after the ring was on his finger and John was with him. That was where John was supposed to be right now. His entire being, including his career was spinning out of control and rapidly down the drain. It'd be really nice if John could be there, if only to help him pick up the pieces of what used to be his existence. For right now though, he at least had one thing that had to be done.

Get his life in order.

~X

Harry grabbed John's mobile off the floor where it sat vibrating. John was still asleep on the couch, snoring away while the phone shook. She slipped back in to her room before checking it. A new message.

_John, my number seems to have been leaked and I've had to disconnect it. My new number is 020 7831 2754. Please call at your earliest convenience. Miss you. Love you. SH_

She didn't even hesitate before deleting it. Serves the fucking prick right. Serves fucking _John_ right. He couldn't pick his family over this mess?

Harry knew she was being irrational, but she didn't really care. Side effects from being an alcoholic, she was told. She usually told those people that their face was a side effect of being ugly.

Maybe she should work on her comebacks.

Or maybe she was potentially jealous of John. The bastard in question's words rang through her skull for a minute and she had to forcibly shove it down. This was about what she wanted for her brother and saving him the pain of dating an absolute, fucking prick of a man. That's what she was going to tell herself.

~X

It was Tuesday. The day after the first episode had aired, and John hadn't watched it. He didn't want to hear himself talk about these women and man he didn't know. Harry had watched every second and had called her comments from the couch to John, who had borrowed her room. And cranked the stereo. He still heard it.

"The prick just showed up!" The prick was her new name for Sherlock. She'd ask him if he'd heard from 'the prick,' if he'd dumped him, if they were fucking. Everything she said built up to one thing: she was angry with him for choosing Sherlock. Not like he was surprised, but she was making life miserable. And after listening to an evening filled with that kind of talk, he really just wanted to speak with the only person who mattered right now.

A burning desire to hear Sherlock's voice. Sherlock still hadn't called. And he was damn well going to fix it.

Harry had unlimited internet, thankfully. Which meant that John's hopefully not tedious search wouldn't get him in trouble with his sister. More trouble. In fact, Harry being at work was the first relief from the passive-aggressive anger that John had had in a few days, and it was almost blissful.

The thing they didn't tell you about this show was that the stress you go through during filming can easily double right afterwards. John was feeling that right now. Harry had promised him a tabloid. He'd already seen them. He couldn't talk to the only person he wanted to. He couldn't see his fiancé.

He set up the computer and ran his first search. He wasn't surprised that Sherlock's number was unlisted. A quick search on a general site brought up the message boards and the articles dealing with the show.

He didn't want to look at those blogs. Or anything else. And it was terrifying now that he had to be there. Sherlock's phone number was plastered all over these boards.

That was awful. John couldn't even begin to imagine how many people had called him in the last day or so. It turned his stomach to think about it. Sherlock didn't need this kind of pressure on top of everything else. John wouldn't have known how to handle it if his number went online. He desperately wanted to help him, ask if he was alright, make sure the media attention hadn't killed Sherlock. And this awful system of pressure was the only way he could do so.

He called.

"This mobile number has been disconnected and is no longer in service." The polite woman on the phone stabbed John in the heart. "Please hand up and redial."

He double-checked. Every site had the same number. One had a message with terrible grammar talking about how they had actually spoke to Sherlock and how rude he had been. John tried again.

Same message. Disconnected.

_Fuck_.

John knew why it was disconnected. He would have done the same. If he had been one day quicker instead of waiting for Sherlock to call, he would have gotten through. The sense of urgency hadn't been there. And now, he had lost all possibility of control. He had to wait. Either Sherlock called him, or he didn't.

And now, John wasn't sure. He sat, staring at the message boards and the forums, not really forming any coherent thoughts as a sense of panic threatened to take over.

Sherlock could have called quickly before disconnecting. Couldn't he have? Was he really that desperate?

Did he regret _John_?

John shut the damn computer off, but didn't move.

~X

When John hadn't called by that night, Sherlock was angry. Not with John, mind you, but with himself. It was _stupid_ for him to hang so much on one very fallible person. John didn't have time for him, and he should have known better to even ask for it.

And maybe he _was_ a little bit angry with John. The man couldn't even have texted him back? Even if it was a break up or a 'can't talk now' message?

John was toying with his heart now. Or at least it fucking seemed like it, and it hurt that someone who had seen him so vulnerable had seemingly forgotten him. John had everything about Sherlock and everything Sherlock was in his hands and didn't seem to realize it or worse, he didn't care. And Sherlock was sure that by midnight, he'd be depressed and unable to sleep and the anger would dissipate into self-loathing again. He was going to sit here and debate whether or not his public image would recover and whether or not he'd be able to take a case and whether or not he had enough groceries to survive two months.

He didn't. He needed to go shopping. Maybe he could talk Mrs Hudson into doing it for him?

Possibly. But not likely right away. She might have to see one of the tabloids first. Which he didn't want her to. Or anyone else, for that matter, even though they didn't actually seem to have anything that negative to say about him...yet. As far as he had seen anyway. The blogs were a different story. About half of them were really positive. The other half thought he was ruining the dynamics of their favourite show. And all they had seen was episode one.

Delightful. Hopefully no one got a hold on his new number.

Sherlock sighed heavily, resting his head on the back of the couch.

How the fuck was he going to survive this? His sense of loneliness was new and palpable as he sat alone on his couch trying not to remember a couple of weeks ago when he had John beside him. It was hard to remember that he'd lived this way for years before John. It was doubly hard to remember what it was like to not be always searching for the other man's blond hair and blue eyes out of the corner of his eye. Sherlock knew it was pathetic, but he was trying to recall everything the doctor had ever said to him just to be reminded of the sound of his voice, trying to recall every time he touched him or was touched by him just to feel some ghost of it on his skin.

Before he knew it, he realized his eyes were getting uncomfortably watery. No, he was _not _going to start leaking, and blubber to himself on the couch damn it. That was not going to solve anything and it would make him feel worse.

And that was exactly what he didn't need right now.

~X

The first time John saw Sarah on the street, he was busy trying to distract himself from his own utter depression. He was wearing sunglasses and a hat, which was keeping public attention to a minimum, but it still wasn't fun. Harry was insisting he go out and do things, though, and really? He couldn't say no. He wanted to be out of Harry's apartment as much as humanly possible. If only so he could stop hearing her call his fiancé a prick every third sentence..

What he really wanted was for Sherlock to call and whisk him off on an adventure. A case, or a desperate vacation away from the media. Anything.

But he hadn't called. And John still couldn't get through, even though he kept trying.

And then he walked around a corner and saw Sarah getting onto a bus. Probably off to work. She looked tired but fine. And _she_ wasn't wearing sunglasses or hats or anything.

John supposed she didn't have to. Not yet. She was just one girl out of twenty four, so far. It was John and Sherlock who stood out.

He passed the tabloids every day. The first one had had Sherlock's face plastered all over it and was talking about the liberal implications. Suggesting that the competition was rigged and John was gay, or that they were forcing him to pretend to be bisexual, or that they told John to keep him for a while to add drama. None of which was true. John treated Sherlock like he would have anyone - he let himself be wooed by the person not the gender.

Not like mass media would ever understand that concept. He wasn't about to go and change their minds with one stupid show. Reality sucked.

And now, Sarah was walking by, taunting him, almost. As if she was saying 'should've picked me, it would have been easier.' He would have talked to her by now. Would have had someone to share all the ridiculousness with.

But he didn't want to share it with Sarah. He just wanted Sherlock to call.

~X

Sherlock tore up the piece of paper with John's number on it and threw it out in a fit of rage. He was frustrated. He didn't want to even look at the internet in case he saw himself. Or John. Which would hurt more.

He didn't even want to talk to John right now. That's what he was telling himself. He was lonely, hurt, bored, unhappy, and everything else, and John wasn't there. For anything. He wasn't even concerned, or he would have called.

Could he really have fallen in love with someone so callous?

He knew better. He didn't know what was wrong, but all he could assume was that it was him. Something about Sherlock was wrong. John didn't want this any more. John couldn't come see him because he was regretting it. John's family was talking him out of this terrible, terrible decision. And it was probably a terrible decision, Sherlock couldn't even deny that part. He was an unbalanced, psychopathic mess of a man right now and he still didn't really understand what John saw in him in the first place. The doctor probably got off the plane, and realized what a huge mistake he was making, and decided not to see Sherlock again hoping that would be letting him down gently.

So he tore up John's number and threw it out, satisfying his more violent urges for a time.

John and his lack of contact could very happily _fuck off_. He didn't need him anyway. He shouldn't need him at all.

Besides, he had the number programmed into his mobile.

~X

The second time John saw Sarah left him far more broken than the first. They made eye contact, passed each other on the street. She didn't say hi. Or even nod her head. From her standpoint, they didn't know each other.

And that left John completely alone. Sarah hated him. Somehow, he expected that. It still hurt, but at least it was expected pain. But he had also expected to have Sherlock there when he dealt with that. Or with the old lady asking him for his autograph.

He had expected Sherlock to give him a way out of Harry's flat.

And that wasn't fair to ask of Sherlock, but that's what he wanted. He wanted a voice and a person that he could look forward to seeing and talking to so that he didn't have to deal with the reality of living with his sister and all that anger for a few hours. He wanted to know that the good part was still coming. It was. He _would_ see Sherlock soon. But he wanted to see him now, and the frustration was killing him slowly.

Nothing he could do about it though, except look into Sarah's ice cold eyes, and keep walking. The new tabloids came out tomorrow.

Harry had promised to buy him one. Whether he wanted it or not.

~X

"Sherlock, just go out and see him," Mrs Hudson said with a sigh. She brought him some groceries and tea, but promptly started her usually motherhenning when she saw him still sprawled out on the couch.. "He loves you. He asked you to marry him. He's not the kind of boy that will go back on that."

Sherlock glanced briefly at his ring. His taunting, cruel ring. "He didn't answer my text."

"Something must have happened, dear," Mrs Hudson said quietly, patting him on the shoulder. She was the only person who could get away with calling Sherlock 'dear' to his face. Other than maybe John. "You've got to get out of the house some time."

"I'm not _allowed_ to see him." Or he would have days ago and gotten this over with.

Suddenly the sweet old woman that was Mrs Hudson, dealt him a sharp smack to the side of his head. The impact was jarring, especially when you didn't expect it. She glared at him with more than a little bit of frustration, putting her hands on her hips.

"Sherlock Holmes, you're smarter than that. Work around the rules."

And that was probably the only useful piece of advice Mrs Hudson had ever given him.

~X

"What the hell are you so down about?" Harry asked after about an hour or two of avoiding each other. John didn't feel like being near her, but he didn't want to go out again. He was tired and depressed. Unsurprisingly.

"I saw Sarah today," John said with a sigh.

"Rekindling an old flame?" Harry joked from the couch, John just frowned and kept washing the dishes. It was his payment for free rent for a few weeks.

"No. She wouldn't even say hello. It just made me miss Sherlock." John tried not to sigh too heavily again. It was driving Harry insane.

"You do realize this is the same prick who basically called me drunk and abusive and said that's why Clara left, right? John, this man is not a nice person." Harry had gone from joking to angry. In no time flat. John wasn't scared of it anymore. Harry's mood swings were just a part of living with her.

"You never told me that, but I'm not surprised," John replied, cautiously, but not too cautiously. He wasn't afraid of Harry. He was the one in the military, even if he did have a few scars now. "He did tell me he said some nasty things and that you had said some yourself."

"I did _not_, the lying bastard." Harry pulled herself up and walked over to John. "This man does _not_ deserve to be part of our family. You're not going to have a happy ending with him, and he doesn't deserve one for what he said about me."

"Harry, you're being ridiculous." John set the plate down and dried his hands. If they were going to fight, he could at least be ready. "Sherlock was cruel because you were cruel first. And probably rude. And really, he's been through a lot of hell to get a 'happy ending' and so have I. I don't think you get a choice in that matter."

"See, this is why I deleted his stupid text message. You need some time away from him, or you'll go just as crazy as he is." Harry started stomping towards her room. John stopped her.

"What text?"

"The one with his new number," she said with a mean, false smile. "I'm not having that bastard calling my home every night."

"I cannot believe you sometimes." John's eyes fluttered closed and his hand went to his head. He wished he was more surprised. But the first thing he really felt was relief.

Sherlock had texted. He wasn't leaving. John needed to tell him what happened, and fix everything before Sherlock thought it was over.

"I hope he's suffering," Harry growled. "He shouldn't get away with saying those things about people."

"Fuck off, Harry," John said with a rush of anger. His _fucking_ sister was ruining the one good thing he had right now. And if she did manage to sabotage it, he would never forgive her. "You've fucked up enough relationships without fucking up mine."

She spun away and grabbed her coat. John just watched her walk out. It was either that or attempt murder.

"I'm going out. I swear, if you weren't my brother..."

She didn't finish before she slammed the door. She was going to be drunk when she came back. Not like John was ever sure that she was sober. And he would hate her even more when she was drunk. His irresponsible, useless, _fucking_ sister.

If there was anywhere else he could be, he would be there. Hopefully he didn't punch Harry in the face when she got back.

~X

Sherlock did some research. The last several sightings of John had all been around the same five block area. There was only one grocery store in that range. If John was smart, he'd be getting his groceries or running errands earlier in the morning. Sherlock _also_ needed groceries.

And had the patience to wander the area until he found John. There was a sighting every day, so far. Which meant that John had a routine and went out. Probably couldn't stand Harry for that long. Not like Sherlock could blame him for that.

But he needed to talk to his supposed fiancé. Even if John rejected him, at least he had a concrete answer, one way or the other.

He was going skip the disguise. He didn't care. He just wanted to fucking see John and talk to him and maybe yell at him a little. Besides, disguises look stupid. He didn't want John's potentially last image of him to have a fake moustache in it.

~X

John left at five thirty. He hadn't slept, and he felt sick, and Harry wasn't back yet, which meant she was probably staying the night at some woman's house. He camped out at an all-night coffee shop until about seven, and then downed his fifth coffee and closed up his newspaper and went out. He was going to walk until he thought of something to do. How to get himself out of this mess. How to get in touch with Sherlock and tell him about Harry. How to get out of his sister's flat and never have to go back.

Sarah was there when he came out. He almost bumped into her, and she stopped in her tracks on her way in. Apparently this was her usual coffee shop. Or at least the one she was going to this morning.

They stood awkwardly. No avoiding it this time.

"Hello," John said softly. "Haven't seen you in a while."

"Look, John, I don't know what I did to deserve this, but please fucking leave me alone," she said, immediately. She looked angry and tired. John really couldn't blame her. "I don't want to see you."

"I'm sorry, Sarah," he murmured. "I've been staying with Harry. I didn't realize she was so close to your area."

"Because brushing by me on the street a few times doesn't enlighten you." She looked close to tears. "You have no idea what I've been going through."

"I can guess. I'm sorry, Sarah." He was repeating himself. But he didn't know what else to say. He'd hurt her, and now he was continuously hurting her by just being nearby. Great.

"You don't love me, can you please stop _flaunting_ the fact that I lost? Please?" She was crying now. Completely broken down and sobbing crying. John put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. Trying to comfort her. Even though he knew it probably didn't mean much.

"Is there anything I can do?" he asked softly.

"Just go the _fuck_ away. Please. _Please._" She was trembling. People were staring. And John would be happy to disappear if that's what she wanted.

~X

Sherlock, watched John come out of the coffee shop. Watched him talk to Sarah, watched her start to bawl and then John touch her. Watched him offer to help her and try to comfort her. She obviously didn't want his affection but John was offering it anyway. And that hurt.

John was just as prohibited from talking to Sarah as he was talking to Sherlock. So why did Sarah's plea for help get attention while he got ignored? Simple. Sherlock wasn't stupid.

He wanted John to know he saw them. That was all. The last vindictive gasp in him before he went home and shattered into a million pathetic pieces.

A brisk walk brought him close enough to say it quietly to John's back. Getting so close, he was finding it hard to keep his resolve...and admittedly his composure. But fuck, he was angry and John could have fucking ended this last week and saved him a hell of a lot of time...and pain. He said the words, and told himself that this was it.

"You could have just told me."

~X

John spun around just in time to see Sherlock's back retreating faster than he thought a walk could take a person. Sarah made a face and turned away, but John didn't even look at her before he took off.

At the very least, he could disappear for her. But really, he wanted to catch Sherlock.

Desperately.

Despite his careening run, Sherlock was gone by the time John rounded the corner. He kept looking. He checked the stores. The alleys. He asked passersby. Unsurprisingly, no luck. Sherlock had disappeared faster than John could think to follow.

~X

The letter basically flew through the slot about fifteen minutes after John locked the door. Harry was off at work, but the letter was addressed to him. He was busy wallowing in his own shame.

Finally, _finally_, he gets to see Sherlock, and he's immediately left in the street with a misunderstanding. He knew how it looked. He'd do the same thing, in Sherlock's position. It looked like he had abandoned him. And John felt sick just thinking about it.

All he had to do was unfold it before the ring dropped out onto the floor. John picked it up and went back to the couch where he sat with his head in his hands. No. This had gotten too far away from him, too far out of hand. Sherlock was leaving him. And John didn't really know why, but it was very possibly because he didn't want this. It was a struggle now, and John was really painfully aware of that. Sherlock didn't have to put up with this. John didn't have a choice anymore, but he desperately wanted Sherlock to be there, as selfish as that was. He didn't want to think about life without him.

The desperate hope was still there, though. If Sherlock was leaving him he could at least know why. He could try to fix it. Because he wasn't going on like this without at least trying.

He read the note carefully.

_John,_

_If you were having second thoughts, you could have told me. I haven't slept or been able to leave the house in days. If you were going to leave me, you could have at least saved me those hours of doubt. Have fun with Sarah._

_Sherlock Holmes_

That was the catalyst John needed. He stood up, put his shoes on, and went to go buy some hair dye. It was a good thing he hadn't cut his hair since he got back. The shaggy look would help right now.

~X

Sherlock was lying on the couch, unmoving and had been since he'd dropped the ring off. John didn't want him. He had lost his anonymity. His reputation would probably be destroyed in a matter of weeks. He couldn't even take a case if he wanted to.

What was the most painless and dignified way to commit suicide? CO poising involved vomiting. Not a good choice. Pills involved far too much effort and were potentially painful, depending on the medication. All the poisons he had on hand were violent and painful. Excruciating even. All he wanted was a quick easy death.

Maybe jumping? Too much time for regret. He just needed a gun, really.

Tomorrow. If he slept at all, tomorrow he could get a gun.

But the doorbell at one in the morning would jar anyone out of a chain of thought. He still didn't move. He heard Mrs Hudson call out and shuffle to the door, but he couldn't hear what she was saying.

~X

"I'm sorry," she answered politely, not opening the door all the way. "Can I help you?"

"Mrs Hudson?" The dark haired man asked. He was wearing a baggy sweatshirt, tight pants, and sunglasses. Oddly enough. Hair was shaggy and unkempt. "Can I come in?"

"Do I know you?" Wariness was probably a good thing when your tenant was Sherlock Holmes. John pulled off his sunglasses. Mrs Hudson's eyes went wide.

"I just want to see Sherlock, if I can." John asked quietly.

"Of course. Get in here, John." She practically dragged him in, and slammed the door. "I don't know what happened, but he's so depressed. He's been having a really bad time of it since he came back."

"Is he here?" John asked in a whisper. "Is he alright?"

"Not alright, but here, yes," she said, quietly. "Go talk to him. Please." The look on Mrs Hudson's face and worry in her tone, almost set John into a whole new wave of panic. Something must be really wrong.

John shuffled up the stairs and into the flat. Sherlock was lying on the couch, staring at the ceiling. He didn't look at John when he came in. Though John could still see how pale he'd become, and the bags under his eyes. His face seemed hollow with eyes that seemed plaintive, far away. John was again trying not to just start shaking the detective and demanding he tell him what was wrong. He knew what was wrong, he just hoped he could fucking fix it.

"Just leave, John." Sherlock murmured. "I know you don't want me." The other man's voice was flat, a monotone that spoke to volumes of hurt dwelling just under the surface.

"Sherlock, if I didn't want you, I wouldn't be here." John walked over to the couch and dragged him up by the arms. "Today was the first time I've talked to Sarah since we've come back, and she basically told me to fuck off and disappear."

Sherlock shook off John's touch with a bit of violence and marched to the kitchen. Not making eye contact.

"You offered help to her. You fucking held her. I didn't even get a phone call. I think that says everything."

"Harry deleted your text message before I saw it." John closed his eyes. "Not an excuse, but I was waiting for you to call me."

"You know where I fucking _live_, you asshole," Sherlock growled. "Stop by maybe? Send me a letter? Would have been faster."

"I came. I'm here. I'm sorry it took me so long." John was. He should have been here days ago. He should have known that Sherlock needed him. Instead, he let himself get swallowed in complacency. In waiting. He didn't like that he had let himself and Sherlock down, but it was done. He wasn't going to let it crush them. "And I'm sorry I wasn't here. I'm here now. I plan on staying."

"No, no, no," Sherlock said, flippantly waving him off. He was angry. But John was too. "Go back to your heterosexual, normal existence. You seem to like it there."

He had dragged himself across town in the middle of the night to make up for the neglect Sherlock had been suffering lately. Yeah, Sherlock had a right to be angry. But he was also going to make it right.

"Sherlock, stop," John growled, shaking the other man by his shoulders. "I love _you_. That's all there is to this."

"You're simplifying," Sherlock gasped, eyes closed. He was going to go on but John stopped him, lips mashing together, breathing ragged and quickly, tongue forcing its way into the detective's mouth, Sherlock willingly moving into the kiss, rough and hard. There was more passion that either of them had mustered in a long time. All of the passion that this fucking competition had drained from them. All they had had for weeks and months had been angst and drama and horrible negativity. John wasn't going to let it end there.

Raw emotions filtered their violent movements, John's teeth pulling at Sherlock's lips, the detective's nails clawing at John's back, every little scrape drawing an electric shiver through his body. Every bit of give under his teeth, or returned pressure against his tongue, or desperate scrabble of hands was an effort to bring them back to what they still had. An emphasis on the fact that they both still felt the same way they had two weeks ago, that they should be able to just relax and be happy.

And they would be, damn it. John was going to prove something.

They broke away for a minute, but the pause did nothing to cover the fact that both he and Sherlock were already hard.

"We will make this work. I will make this work. The rest of them can fuck off." John heaving chest was starting to ache with a need for air. Sherlock looked him in the eye but didn't say anything. "It will be fine, even if it isn't right now."

"... I believe you," Sherlock said with a heavy sigh. "I shouldn't, but I do."

"Good," John said, before diving right back into their kiss. Sherlock writhed softly beneath him, just as desperate, just as firm. Nothing could be soft. They needed the harsh reality of their emotions, every tense and sharp pain and passion. They needed to feel their passions _burn_ a little to reestablish their footing.

John roughly grabbed at Sherlock's shirt. He could fumble with the buttons, but Sherlock was grabbing his back and moaning loudly into his kiss. It was easier, more satisfying to pull sharply and feel the buttons give beneath his force. Hearing two or three clatter against the floor, Sherlock paused. But the look in his eyes was so clouded by lust, John couldn't imagine he was angry.

Instead of worrying he took that moment to shuck off his own sweatshirt, and undo their trousers. There wasn't any conversation. There wasn't any thought to it. There wasn't even any lube that John knew of, and he certainly wasn't about to try and experiment with things in _Sherlock's_ kitchen. So he pulled Sherlock as close as possible and kissed him deeply, his arms wrapped tightly around the other man's back, holding them together, pinning their cocks between them. It wasn't perfect, but they didn't care. What mattered was how much they both wanted this. Needed it. Wouldn't survive without it.

The pressure was good. Sherlock's fingers dug into his back again, this time - without the protection of clothes - he felt the scratches well. But even the sharp rasp of pain didn't do anything but intensify the pleasure of the moment.

Sherlock gasped, heavy breathing taking over his body. His chest shook and heaved against John's tight grasp, and he writhed, twitching, almost struggling to increase the friction. John felt his cock twitch between them. He felt the rough, velcro-like contact where their trousers were still tangled on their legs, felt the hard push of the counter, but didn't have the wherewithal to care.

Sherlock hissed after a particularly good motion. "John," he gasped sharply, '"Oh, god, John."

John shifted their position to get some leverage and did it again. He moaned as well, hitting the perfect angle to create just the right friction. They were sweating, the effort turning into a visible, tangible sheen on their skin. Enough to keep the friction from being painful, not enough to make either of them slick. John kept thrusting, pressing against Sherlock, controlled, but not in control. He was completely lost to the feeling, the emotions and the physical contact; they were close. He was touching every inch of Sherlock he could, Sherlock's moans were in his ears, and every point of contact was screaming. He could hear himself, hear the noises and the gasps and the wild sharp cries that he hadn't been able to suppress.

Sherlock's abdomen was tensing. John could feel his own tensing muscles, the feeling growing. He didn't know what he was saying. He wasn't even fully registering what Sherlock was saying. All he knew was that his world was blacking out, everything being overwhelmed by the friction between them, the sensations on his body, the almost burning intensity of coming hard and roughly and feeling someone else do the same, convulsing against each other, leaving marks and semen and exhausted, panting lack of control. John was sure he had screamed, and Sherlock's voice was still echoing in his ears.

The two of them were barely still standing, the counter supporting them. John was sure his legs wouldn't keep him upright. Everything felt loose and relaxed. Like it should be. Calm. Perfect.

"I love you," John whispered, head resting heavily on Sherlock's shoulder. "Please remember that, at least."

"I love you, John." Sherlock murmured back.

They pulled apart, and John adjusted his trousers before walking over to collapse on the couch. Sherlock took a moment to catch his breath before following.

"What are those ridiculous pants you're wearing?" Sherlock asked, panting, slightly. John took in the beautiful sight of the detective's flushed face, and the lust still dancing in his eyes. "Did you really think borrowing Harry's clothes and dyeing your hair constitutes a disguise?"

"At least I made an effort. I'm trying not to get sued," John said with a laugh. "I just hope no one saw that."

Sherlock curled his legs in and leaned against John, both of them shirtless and happy. "I'm glad you came. Even with the ridiculous outfit."

"Of course I came." John sighed, and got up to get his sweatshirt. He dug through the pockets on his way back to the couch. "I had to."

He was nervous, every fibre of his being burning a bit. Hoping for this to work one more time, because he needed it to work and if it did everything would be better.

And then he dropped to one knee and offered Sherlock up his ring.

"Sherlock Holmes, will you marry me?"

The pause felt like an eon. And John was tired and scared and this might be his last chance. He loved Sherlock. That's all he needed to know right now.

"As long as you're sure," Sherlock said with a slight smile. He looked relieved, and more relaxed. Like something huge was lifted off him. "You might regret it in a day or two."

"I won't." John's voice didn't waver. He knew what his choice was, even now.

"Yes." Sherlock's eyes looked like they were watering. Crying, just slightly. "I can't seem to manage without you anymore."

John felt choked up, himself. He couldn't live without Sherlock either. Everything came second to that.

"Well, I'm not going anywhere." John slid the ring on Sherlock's finger and pulled himself up onto the couch. "I don't want to go anywhere."

"Stay here, then," Sherlock whispered, before leaning in for a kiss. His hands trailed down John's chest and across his back and along the top of his waistband. His very tight, rather uncomfortable waistband. And every dance of fingers across his skin was turning him on. Again. And every caress of a tongue in his mouth brought Sherlock closer and more desperate. Warmer.

"I just want to hold you, John," Sherlock murmured in his ears. John could sympathize. That was all he wanted too. "It's been a bad week, and it's going to get worse, and I just want to reassure myself that this is real."

"It's real. I'm staying."

"Good." Sherlock surged back into their kiss, hands on John's trousers, sliding them off him, the both of them stripping between breathless kissing. Being freed from his tight pants was a relief in and of itself. Being touched by Sherlock was even better. This was better.

Well, not entirely. The rough touch of fingers, the gasp of Sherlock as his fingers dug into his shoulders, the fact that both of them were aroused and together was just the beginning. They still had to face tabloids and gossip and horrible phone calls. And a season finale special. But for now, it was better.

John let himself get lost in the touches, in the soft pads of Sherlock's fingers. Gently tracing along his skin, around his muscles, lingering on his scar. The scar seemed to fascinate him to no end, watching him swirl fingers across the rough bumps and the dip in his skin, finding every divot and rise. John let his head rest on Sherlock's neck, then lapped at the muscle joint.

Sherlock gasped, and lay back against the side of the couch, letting John come down on top of him. John wasn't one to waste an opportunity. His breath grazed across Sherlock's lips, but his brain was focused on their intertwined thighs. The friction was close enough to be exciting, but not quite satisfying. Just the level of tantalizing that John wanted to produce. Sherlock gasped sharply each time John shifted.

Supporting himself on his hands, John pressed his tongue to Sherlock's shoulder and bit down.

"Nnnngggggh." Sherlock moaned louder than John had heard from him in a while. He seemed to like the pressure of teeth and suckling. And John wasn't about to deny him that kind of pleasure. Every shift of the detective's body begged for attention, everything John could give. So he gave everything he could. He dragged his palms against Sherlock's bare flesh, lapped his tongue over the sensitive nerves on his neck, his chest, and bucked back into Sherlock's movements. Both of them were dripping in readiness. John felt the precum smear against his chest.

He very slowly made his way down Sherlock's chest, swiping a tongue over Sherlock's nipple. His reward was a harsh, loud moan. Sounded like music to John, right now. Anything that came from Sherlock was the best noise he could imagine. He traced the lines of Sherlock's abdomen, trailing kisses towards his cock, then turning away just when he got close. His mouth settled on Sherlock's inner thigh and the detective almost screamed.

"_John_." A wild hand scrabbled in John's hair, desperate for something to hold. "Please."

He had planned more teasing, but he couldn't ignore Sherlock's tone. He didn't want to either. He just wanted to enjoy this.

His tongue flicked at Sherlock's tip, swirling the fluids there and steadying the base with a hand. He gave a little sucking kiss, before swallowing just the tip and putting pressure on it. Sherlock groaned wantonly.

After a few seconds John moved again, tracing a line with his tongue down the underside of Sherlock's cock, slowly down to where his hand was. Moving his hand slightly, John cleared the way to continue down to Sherlock's balls. Gently pulling one into his mouth, he waited for the reaction. A soft moan, a quick jerk, just enough that he could tell Sherlock liked it. Spending a little more time there, John nuzzled and licked and worked the loose skin and the firm tissue at Sherlock's base, watching as his cock twitched with pleasure and as Sherlock struggled for more contact.

John obliged. Moving his way up Sherlock's cock with his mouth, he made sure to vary the pressure with his tongue, changing angles and moving incredibly slowly. Working any area that Sherlock particularly enjoyed for a few extra seconds before moving on. When he had made it back up to Sherlock's tip, he took as much of his cock into his mouth as he could, sucking sharply and working the base with his tongue.

John didn't let go for a second and Sherlock absorbed every bit of pleasure like a sponge. Every motion gave a new thrust and a twist and a tensing of muscles. Sherlock was ready and it didn't take much work on John's part to bring him to climax.

Fingernails scraped John's scalp. Sherlock was gasping and babbling, loudly. Mrs Hudson was probably awake, but John was fairly certain she would forgive them this time. And he could taste Sherlock in his mouth, and feel the contractions under his fingers. Feeling Sherlock come hard and furious was almost as good as coming himself.

"John, that was amazing," Sherlock breathed, as John slithered back up the couch to lie on top of him. John ignored his erection to take in the feel of Sherlock's breathing, the slight heave of his chest, the gentle motion of his muscles.

"Glad I haven't lost my touch," he joked. Sherlock groaned softly in agreement.

"You certainly have not." And then his hands started to move between them, sliding downwards, creating some friction. Heading directly where John wanted them to go. "My turn."

"You don't-ah! Have to," John gasped, as Sherlock's fingers brushed the side of his cock, sending shivers down his spine. "We don't always have to be equal."

"I want to," Sherlock replied bluntly. "Stop worrying, John."

John did. He couldn't really worry when strong hands were guiding him to turn around, easing him until his back was against Sherlock's chest, and he could feel Sherlock's mouth breathing just above his shoulder. The light, tingling sensation of barely touching fingers shuddered through his abdomen. Sherlock bit down lightly on John's shoulder at the same time as his fingers ghosted along the base of his cock.

John's moan was far louder and more debauched than he had intended. For such a soft touch, he could feel his nerves sing wherever Sherlock's fingers traced. And every time Sherlock's tongue lapped at his neck, or teeth nibbled his collarbone, he could feel the shock go straight to his groin.

If Sherlock wasn't careful, he might come just from this.

Sherlock didn't let him get that far, though, before the palm of his hand slid down his stomach and wrapped around his cock. A gentle squeeze at the base.

"Oh, _fuck_," John moaned. The feeling was more than he had expected and been prepared for. It was taking everything he had not to lose his control immediately. He bucked sharply into Sherlock's hand as it slid slowly up and then back down. Achingly slowly. John could feel himself twitch and his muscles start to shake. It felt incredible, and tantalizing. And it was feeling better with every stroke.

John felt himself thrusting in time with Sherlock's increasingly frenzied strokes. His back thumped heavily against Sherlock's chest, slick with sweat and sliding against each other.

John felt the pressure build and lost himself in the sensation of his approaching climax. The pressure and motion of Sherlock's fingers drew him over the edge, spasms ripping through him and overwhelming his vision. He knew he was screaming, but he really didn't care, and he wasn't thinking about it. All he cared about was coming.

And when the sensations washed away, he basically collapsed into Sherlock's arms. The slight resistance of Sherlock's cock made him smile. He wasn't quite sure how Sherlock was this... _virile_, for lack of a better word, but the detective recovered quickly. After taking a moment to regain some strength and energy, he wiggled around until he was face to face with his lover.

"You're pretty damn good yourself," John murmured, not letting Sherlock respond before he wrapped a hand firmly around him. Sherlock bucked violently. He was close already, and John could tell. Which was kind of flattering. All he had done was writhe and let Sherlock get him off. Then again, Sherlock was probably having the sex he never had as a teenager. John was pretty sure Sherlock hadn't allowed himself to experience puberty the way most fifteen-year-olds did.

John could feel the friction of his hand as he gently squeezed and dragged his palm along Sherlock's cock, and he could feel Sherlock respond viscerally and rapidly. There was urgency in his motion, and John was happy to oblige. Quick jerks, in time with Sherlock's bucking, and a few moments later Sherlock was coming, shaking beneath John's fingers and crying out. A few moments later, he relaxed, clearly sated.

John smiled, and lowered himself down on top of Sherlock ignoring the stickiness, and the slick sweat between the two of them. In a minute, he would get up, clean them off and find some place to sleep. For now, he was going to enjoy just being here.

"I know it doesn't make up for a week of hell, but do you feel a bit better?" John asked quietly, dragging his fingers across Sherlock's brow. Sherlock's eyes closed and he leaned in to the touch.

"Yes, a bit. As long as you're staying." He didn't open his eyes, and his voice was quiet.

"I'm staying. You don't have to worry about that."

"Good. That's all I want."

~X

John opened the door to Sherlock's room. Instead of a bed, he saw a disorganized pile of papers, and a shower of debris - or clutter, or whatever you'd like to call it - covering every surface.

"Sherlock, where, exactly, do you sleep?" Sherlock was struggling into the clothes John had recovered from the floor. He looked at John liked he was half asleep, before grasping for an answer.

"...The couch usually." He shrugged. John pulled Sherlock's robe closer around him. There had been no way he was putting Harry's trousers back on. He wasn't dealing with Sherlock's disaster of a room right now, either.

"Well, where are we going to sleep tonight? Your bed is obviously not an option."

"There's a spare room upstairs, if you want," Sherlock murmured. "Mrs Hudson says it ours if we need it."

"Good. We'll sleep upstairs." Sherlock seemed to perk up when John went to collect him.

"You want me to come too?" He sounded far too hopeful. John raised an eyebrow.

"Of course? Why wouldn't I?" he asked, trying to convince Sherlock to keep up with him. If they didn't get to sleep soon, he was going to pass out.

"I wasn't sure you'd want to share a bed." Sherlock grabbed his hand as they made their way up the stairs.

"I do. Always," John added. He did. There was nothing better than waking up in the morning next to the person you love. "You should mention things if you're worried about them."

"Mm." Sherlock didn't give an answer, but John let it go. They needed to sleep. Badly. He rolled the covers back and shuffled in with Sherlock.

~X

Mrs Hudson left them breakfast. And a note.

_Boys,_

_If you're going to be loud, lock the door, please. I thought one of you was dying! And that's really not a sight fit for an old woman's eyes. Glad you made up, though. ;)_

_Enjoy the pancakes!_

Sherlock almost died of embarrassment on the spot. John's unnaturally dark hair registered in his peripheral vision as he peeked over the detective's shoulder. He wasn't sure if he hoped it would wash out, or if he was okay with John's "disguise." It might give them a little more freedom. But he missed the glimpse of dirty blond hair that he was used to.

John flushed, and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's waist.

"Well, that's a little embarrassing."

"A little?" Sherlock's voice was a bit shrill. Great. Because he needed to emphasize his shame just that much more. "I don't think I can ever look her in the eyes again."

"You'll live," John said giving him a squeeze and grabbing the pancakes. "She obviously doesn't mind."

"John, you are completely missing the social implications. I don't know how you just accept these things and move on." John didn't make any sense. How could he accept the fact that _Mrs Hudson_ now had access to reputation damaging information? Or you know, the fact that she had potentially seen him naked. Ew. Fuck, he almost felt like throwing up suddenly. Sherlock still felt nervous that _John_ had access to that kind of private information on him, and he trusted John. No one else needed to know. Or _see_ any of that.

"Sherlock, if we don't just accept things, we're both going to go crazy. Half the world thinks we're insane for getting together, and we're going to be dealing with even more backlash." John passed the syrup and a plate of pancakes. As an after thought, he dug around to find them each a fork. "We've got each other, and Mrs Hudson isn't angry. We can live

with something little like this."

If he said so. They could. He would have to. John had been as upset as he was last night, as needy, as desperate. It felt good to have someone need him as much he needed them. It felt good to feel that need. And terrifying. But he knew he couldn't lose John again, and he wasn't going to leave John alone in this. They could tackle it together.

And besides, the producers were paying the two of them well. Sherlock could easily not leave the house for the next year or so until everyone forgot who he was.

"Eat your pancakes," John instructed, finally passing him a fork. Sherlock dumped syrup over them and sat on the couch.

"Did you bring your things?" he asked, quietly. John hadn't brought anything. He already knew that. What he needed to know was if John was staying with him or if that was a promise which was only meant to placate him.

"No, which was stupid. I'm going to have to call Harry and tell her we're picking the suitcase up." John took the spot beside him, already eating pancakes. It _was_ two in the afternoon, however. They had a right to be hungry. "Do you mind coming with me?"

"No, I don't," Sherlock replied. If John wanted support against his drunk of a sister, Sherlock was happy to give it. He had some things to do, as well. "Do you think we could stop at Scotland Yard on the way back? I need to give Lestrade an update and my new number."

"Do you think that will be alright?" John looked worried. "Or is that a breach of contract?"

He had thought of that. Lestrade was trustworthy. And John was disguised well enough to get past Donovan and Anderson. The weak intellect on those two was pathetic.

"Try not to talk to anyone, and wear your sunglasses." Sherlock thought for a moment. "And your sister's pants. It's enough for a few minutes. And Lestrade will be fine."

"Alright, then." John finished off his plate. That was fast. Sherlock might have to talk to him about eating slower. Wolfing down food was a huge choking hazard and left one susceptible to subtle poisons. Eating slowly gives you a chance to find any taste that is slightly... off.

He poked at his pancakes.

"Call your sister," Sherlock instructed.

~X

"You're a bastard, John," Harry growled. "My sink is black, and I can't find my spare key."

"I've got the key, and the sink should wash out if you run some water," he sighed. Harry had given him a headache. Already. "Look, I'm just going to pick up my stuff and drop off the key. We'll be there in an hour."

"I am not sticking around. Your shit is in the hall. Drop the key through the mail slot." Harry hung up on him.

Great. Harry was furious. Not like that wouldn't change next time she needed a favour. And, hey, maybe it saved them a very torturous sisterly lecture. Or a very unpleasant round of Sherlock versus Harry. Either way, at least he knew he could pick up his stuff and go home.

"Well, my stuff is in the hall at Harry's place. Don't be surprised if it's half-missing by the time we get there."

Sherlock very solemnly placed his hand on John's shoulder and looked him in the eye.

"John," he said, completely monotone, "Your sister is a bitch."

They both broke out into smiles.

~X

His stuff had been in a pile in the hall, just as Harry had said. It all had been there, though, and it was an easy matter to shove it into the duffel bag that Harry had tossed on top. That was actually far more thoughtful than John had been expecting. And made it a bit easier to pack everything into a cab and head to the Yard. Sherlock carried John's bag for him, so they could head in without fuss; security wouldn't search _him_, but they would definitely search John. Black-haired, sunglassed, tight trousered, John. With a baggy sweatshirt on to boot. Who felt a bit like a rockstar and a bit like an idiot. But Sherlock seemed happy. Judging by how often his eyes went to John's ass, John was very assured of how much Sherlock was enjoying this.

No one looked up when Sherlock breezed through the desk, John in tow. Donovan rolled her eyes and murmured, "At least this one doesn't come with cameras." But otherwise, they were left alone. Sherlock slipped into Lestrade's office.

Lestrade's eyebrows went up as Sherlock closed the door and John whipped off his sunglasses.

"I don't want to know," He immediately started with. "I'm assuming there's a reason for... all of that, but I don't want to know."

"Confidentiality contract," Sherlock replied briskly. "You can't say a word about John being here, and none of your employees recognize him like this. I'm trusting you, Lestrade."

The two of them locked eyes intensely for a moment. John watched Lestrade break away first and leave Sherlock victorious.

"I get it. No problem." Lestrade stood up with them. "What brings you?"

"I need to give you my new number. Preferably in person so I properly warn you to give it to _no one_."

"Did you have an incident with the last one?" Lestrade asks with a smirk. "You couldn't have just texted?"

"No." Sherlock's eyes were like razors. He started to pace. "The only other person with this number is John. If it leaks, I will _know_ it was you."

"I'm not going to give your number to anyone, Sherlock." Lestrade sighed and rubbed his forehead. "But I do have a case if you're interested."

John saw the light flare and then die behind Sherlock's eyes. "No. Not right now. However, if there's anything I can do from the security of my flat, I am _dying_ for some mental stimulation. But I don't think I can manage footwork until the insanity around this show dies down."

"Fair enough," Lestrade agreed. "I don't really want a flock of fans staking out my office anyway."

"Good." Sherlock picked the inspector's phone off his desk and programmed his number in. "There. All set."

"Hey," Lestrade added as they turned to go. "I'm happy for the two of you. Glad you won."

John saw the smile. It was a bit sad, but genuine. Like he was worried about them.

"Thank you," he said for both of them.

~X

John very purposefully brushed against Sherlock as they made their way out of the building. A thigh against Sherlock's, his hand briefly palming Sherlock's ass under his coat. In _public_, which was both kind of shocking and a tad embarrassing.

Unfortunately for Sherlock, most of the embarrassment came from the fact that he could feel himself getting aroused. They couldn't get to a cab fast enough. And John stood almost on top of him the entire time, breathing his air, sharing his body heat. A foot twined against Sherlock's ankle and he shuddered.

He _knew_ John was doing this on purpose, he just didn't care. He was even enjoying it. A silent promise of good things to come. And, you know, the knowledge that his fiancé wanted him as much as he wanted John. This was exhilarating and new and perfect. And John was all that too.

Once they settled in to the cab, John's hand landed on his thigh, and rubbed gently, slowly moving its way upwards. Sherlock suppressed a shudder, and leaned back in his seat. John was right beside him, hand slowly moving close to his hand close to Sherlock's crotch and then just as slowly dragging it away. Repeatedly. With some teasing caresses. And breathing heavier than necessary.

It didn't really matter that Sherlock knew it was on purpose. It was working. By the time they arrived at Baker Street, he was quite happy to throw some money at the cab driver and scramble back to 221B.

~X

Sherlock made very sure to lock the door behind them when they came up to the flat again. John's teasing was driving him up the wall, and he wasn't repeating the incident with Mrs Hudson again. Ever. If at all possible.

Dear god, had that been horrifying.

John had sat down on the couch and stretched himself out, incredibly slowly, giving Sherlock a great look at every lithe inch of John's fully clothed body. A sensual, deliberate movement. Combined with an aching soft, sexual, moan. That was _not_ the moan of someone with back pain.

"John, you are killing me," Sherlock said with more force than he had intended.

"How so?" John was laying himself out on the couch now, shirt riding up just high enough to show a silver of stomach. Oh, not fair.

"I think you know," Sherlock growled, stalking forward, and gripping John's collar. He leaned in and pressed a hard kiss against John's lips. "Stop being so coy."

"Try to convince me that you're not enjoying it," John said, wickedly, wriggling away from his grasp and standing up. "I'm going to make some tea."

"I think tea can wait," Sherlock murmured, gripping John by his shoulders, and slithering one hand around his waist, then lightly over his trousers. He instantly felt a reaction. Which was a huge relief, since he had been bordering on hard for far too long now. John leaned back against his chest, before purposefully taking his hands and pulling them off him. And walking over to the kettle.

"Really?" Sherlock whined, not too pleased with how much control he was losing so quickly. John very calmly filled the kettle and set the water to boil. He could feel his erection start to ache. And he could clearly see John's through the tight trousers. "You're really going to have tea right now?"

"We've got ten minutes for it to boil," John said with a very mischievous smile. "I can think of a few things to fill time."

Sherlock was on him immediately, lips mashed together, teeth clicking together, tongues entwined. His fingers sliding John's sweatshirt upwards and sliding across soft skin, getting a small taste of the sensation he was craving so viscerally. John felt so amazingly good in his arms, it was so satisfying to just hold him. He could hold him forever. But John wasn't about to let him.

John pulled away swiftly, but didn't go far.

"You're in a hurry," he murmured. But Sherlock's shirt was being oh so slowly unbuttoned. One tiny button at a time. John was pushing him slowly towards the couch, with each sensuous pop of buttons coming undone. He stopped midway down Sherlock's chest and pushed him on back on to the couch then climbed on top, one knee on either side of his narrow hips.

"John," Sherlock moaned, feeling fingers ghost along his chest as John continued his slow, methodically unbuttoning. Hi hands came up to the edge of the other man's shirt.

"No, I don't think so," John murmured, taking a moment to place Sherlock's hands above the detective's head. "Relax a bit. Slower."

_Too slow_, Sherlock wanted to say, wanted to start doing something. But he felt himself relax on John's command. He was enjoying this slow torture. He shouldn't be - it was obviously sexual torment - but he was. This is why other people spent so much time with these things. He hadn't really gotten it before John. Clearly the doctor was the missing element in his equation.

The last button came undone, and the shirt slithered down to either side of his chest, exposing him. He still felt warm. And ready. And waiting. John leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his sternum. Sherlock shivered. Compared to his bare chest, John's lips felt incredibly warm, heated. Passionate.

John's tongue trailed along his chest, flicked over a hard nipple. He felt himself buck sharply, not quite able to get any friction from John. It was deliciously frustrating, every moment. The hard yet soft muscle of John's tongue was creating waves of pleasure. He felt his hips thrust again.

John promptly got off the couch. Sherlock almost sat up to follow him, but John pressed him back with one hand. And then ever so slowly started to peel off his sweatshirt.

One sleeve, the shirt coming up with John's arms, baring his stomach, then chest, then one arm, then the other and shoulders.

John's bullet wound stared back at him, a point of interest in a beautiful landscape. His eyes were roving, but they were often drawn back to that one spot. One of the elements that had brought John to him. One of the many incredible things that made John unique.

"Hard, yet?" John asked, half amused. Sherlock heard the water roiling in the kettle. No whistle quite yet.

"Of course," he growled. "And you are too."

John smirked. "Good observation." To emphasize his point, John pressed himself into Sherlock. Just for a second, but fuck it was good.

Then the kettle whistled. Sherlock swore violently as John walked over to the kitchen, still shirtless and poured a cup of tea.

"John, you're making tea while we both have raging erections? Really? _Now_?" John stirred his cup very slowly before removing the tea bag.

"Did you want a cup?" he asked politely. Infuriatingly.

"_No_."

"Suit yourself then." John made his way back to the couch, gently set his cup on the floor beside them, making sure it was out of the way. Obviously he was thinking more than Sherlock was. "It has to cool a bit."

John's legs settled on either side of him again, hands beside his chest, John's mouth hovering inches above Sherlock's own. Warm breath coursed across Sherlock's face, along his neck, heat emanating from the body above him, but just not close enough. Not close enough to touch, not close enough to give him any satisfaction. They hovered like that for a moment before John moved, pressing a kiss first to Sherlock's lips, then to his cheeks, jawbone, and slowly trailing his way down Sherlock's neck with sucking, nipping kisses. Every single flick of tongue seemed to go straight to a nerve, every nerve was on fire, and every single neuron was screaming for attention. Sherlock couldn't take his mind off the wet pressure on his neck and the throbbing at his groin. He wanted to be touched and touch, and as his hands tried to drift down so he could wrap John in his arms, he felt the other man shift.

"Patience," was all he said, as he sat back on to his knees. Sherlock watched longingly as John climbed off him once again and then - still incredibly too slow for his liking - began to remove his socks, trousers, and everything. Every bit of clothing dropped to the floor and Sherlock had a moment to just stare and appreciate before John knelt on the floor beside him and started working on his own waistband button.

"I hope you don't need me to hang these trousers up in the closet," John murmured as he slowly peeled them off, pooling them at his ankles then lifting one foot at a time. "They look expensive. It would be a shame if we ruined them with wrinkling."

"John, if you go anywhere right now, so help me..."

He didn't finish that threat. John's mouth was on one of his hips, lightly tonguing the area and coming closer and closer to where he wanted. John paused right at the base of his cock and let a warm puff of breath send shivers up the other man's back.

Then he started, tongue dragging itself slowly up Sherlock's cock, hand moving to the base. John was good. Or at least, Sherlock's mind was completely occupied with what John was doing, which he was fairly certain meant that John was good. Every swipe of tongue brought forth incoherent, involuntary noises. Every time John hit a particularly sensitive nerve he let out a shout. He wasn't trying to. In fact, he found it fairly embarrassing that he was so loud. But he couldn't help it.

This feeling was amazing.

John paused for a moment, breathing heavily himself. Sherlock regained enough to voice to express himself.

"John, inside me?" Not entirely coherently, maybe, but hey, it got the message across.

"Lube?" John asked quickly, obviously just as turned on as Sherlock was. The detective waved blindly at the cabinet.

"Top drawer." John smirked. Probably at the fact that Sherlock was prepared for everything, but the other man didn't care right now. All he cared about was John's mad scramble to get to the lube and back, in the shortest amount of time.

It was still too long before John's freshly slicked and warm hands came back to him. John slicked himself up with two strokes of his lube covered hands, and then went to take care of Sherlock. He felt the tentative pressure at his entrance and relaxed himself as forcefully as he could. He could do this. John didn't have to be so cautious.

"John, please, now," Sherlock moaned, thrusting down a bit on John's finger. "Faster."

"You're sure?" There was far too much worry in John's eyes as he slipped a second finger in. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You _won't_," Sherlock growled. "I want you inside me now, and I swear it won't hurt me."

John still went slowly. He stretched a bit more and worked his fingers before climbing up on to the couch, between Sherlock's legs.

"Alright," John murmured before thrusting calmly into him. Sherlock would have protested the speed but he was far too gratified by finally getting the touching he wanted and the sensations he had been begging for. John's one hand also closed around the base of his cock and stroked gently upwards. His hips bucked, and John moaned softly, starting to lose the control he had been tenuously holding on to.

"Sherlock," he moaned. "Oh _fuck_ this is good."

Sherlock felt himself smile, despite the panting and the breathlessness. "I should hope it is. Otherwise we're doing something wrong."

"Definitely not wrong," John gasped. Neither of them could really hold a conversation, though. The feeling on his cock, the movement of John inside him, the waves of pleasure that shot through him every time John hit his prostate... it had taken over everything. All that existed for the two of them was the drag of skin on skin, sweat, and each other's moans. John's pace picked up and Sherlock used hands to prop himself up, giving some leverage for him to thrust back in to him, his chest rubbing against John's, hair damp and tousled. John's abdomen started tensing and Sherlock could feel him getting close.

Every bit of John inside him tensed, and exploded. The added pressure, the feeling of liquid warmth and John's sated cries pushed Sherlock over the edge too. He grabbed at whatever was nearby - John, the edge of the couch - and screamed as he came.

John lay naked on top of him for a moment before he lifted his head and came up for a deep, long, kiss. The two of them relaxed, and let the moment take over.

This was real. And it was so amazingly good.

~X

"Trouble in Paradise," John read from the tabloid. "John Watson, the Bachelor, made Sarah Sawyer cry. Bonus story - Sherlock: Already moving on?"

They both smiled. The picture was one of John - black hair, tight clothes, and sunglasses, from a bad angle coming out of a cab with Sherlock. The article talked about Sherlock Holmes and how he had already gotten a new boyfriend after he was tragically rejected by John Watson.

"Apparently reporters are blind," Sherlock murmured. "That is so obviously you that I'm not sure how _anyone_ is fooled."

John went to the kitchen to pour the tea. "Not everyone is as amazing as you are."

It had been a couple weeks since John moved to Baker Street. No one had called them, or found them out, or threatened them with a lawsuit. In fact, it had been shockingly quiet. And now that they were together, they had enough support to face the media monster. Tabloids were funny if you could read them together and laugh. The episodes were funny if they watched them together; John got to see all drama between the women and he could reassure Sherlock that he didn't have a speck of remorse for what he had chosen. Slowly, both of them were settling into a sense of security.

Sherlock smiled at him from the couch. "You know you're saying that out loud?"

John's grin spread. "You tell me every so often. Stop being modest, Sherlock."

If nothing else, they were good for each other. John felt healthy and alive and happy. And Sherlock seemed to be enjoying having someone to love and understand him... and bicker with. Someone he could stand on a day to day basis. All the time. And his self-esteem seemed to be improving, which pleased John a lot.

It was perfect. There was no other word for it.

Plus, he had the promise of murders and adventures after it was safe to head out of the house together. For now, he spent a lot of time helping Sherlock with experiments and pretending to be someone else when he went to the grocery. Or anywhere else. For all the rest of the world knew, John Watson had disappeared.

His roots were coming through, though, and his hair was starting to look ridiculously long and shaggy. He'd have to get it cut. And probably dye it again. Or take the dye out. He wasn't sure yet. But they'd figure it out.

For now, they were keeping tabs on what the media said about them.

"Are you disappointed that they're still talking about how you made Sarah cry?" Sherlock asked, quietly. "I know she came close."

"She didn't," John said, placing a cup of tea beside Sherlock. They'd had this conversation a few times. "There wasn't anyone I would have chosen except you."

"You must get sick of reassuring me." Sherlock picked up his cup and took a very cautious sip. He didn't look as sad as the first time he'd talked to John about Sarah. John could be happy for that. They had had a lot of time to talk since he'd gotten there. Lots of time to talk, and lots of time for Mrs Hudson to chat his ear off and tell him about how she met Sherlock. John loved every moment of it.

"Never," he said, leaning in and placing a gentle kiss on Sherlock's lips. "I'll reassure you until we die if I need to."

Sherlock smiled. "I hope I don't need it for that long."

"If you do, I'll be here." John settled in beside him.

"I hope so." Sherlock's melancholy was suppressed with happiness. John knew he was still delighted with this fact.

"I will be."

It was as easy as that.


End file.
